


Cosmic Cage

by crewdlydrawn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Canon Continuation, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, M/M, Masturbation, POV Multiple, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Sibling Incest, Sort Of, blood or not, improper lube choices, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn
Summary: Picking up where "Avengers" left off, Thor has transported Loki back to Asgard.  Only he has no plans of turning him directly in to suffer someone else's idea of judgement and justice.  Thor exacts his own form of rehabilitation, though from a place of ill-controlled temper and frustration.[So this was the first fic I wrote in 2012 after The Avengers got me back into the idea of fanfic.  The style doesn't match my current, but hey, with Ragnarok renewing my ships... let's honor where we started, yeah?]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Guys. This fic is a mess. Blame gingermous on tumblr for this being posted anywhere again.)

He had wanted to take hold of the metal container and turn, run, spit off the muzzle that had been stuck onto his face and laugh.

He had wanted the power of his staff again, the feeling of abandon that came with the mass of power he wielded, the abilities it granted him.

Yet he could have none of that, not now.  Not beaten as he was from his encounter with the beast.  Not with the staff destroyed, the promise of his army blown away for the moment by that metal-chested meddler.  And, certainly, not with big “brother” at the ready to take him back, turn him over, unknown as of yet to whom, exactly.  Though he could only assume Thor would run straight home to daddy.

No, he would bide his time.  He would kowtow, bow his head, act the meek and servile loser today, this moment, but he would have his.  He would once again steer his own fate.  He would rule.

He had eons of patience.

*             *             *

As their hands joined holding the case containing the tesseract and Thor gave its end a sharp twist, the cube’s glow brightened, expanding, consuming both of their bodies in its blue-white blaze.  Instantly, their bodies converted to pure energy, joined with the tesseract, and all three were transported out of Midgard.  The experience was exhilarating as before… every fiber of one’s being lit up with energy, with power.  It was over far too soon, though the effects remained for a time, tingling. 

Squinting from the lingering brightness of travelling through the portal, his breath still caught in his throat, Loki opened his eyes.  He had expected to be surrounded by Asgardians, by Odin’s soldiers, to be exchanged into fresh shackles.  At first, he could see nothing but the armored chest of his oafish “brother,” his superior height blocking any possibility of a view as he stood too close.  He could smell the acrid stench of Midgardian coffee on his breath, along with the odor of whatever food the pathetic team had chosen to eat after obtaining him, neither the most pleasant of sensations. 

Refreshing his meek posture, Loki glanced up at Thor’s face, finding the boorish features startlingly focused on his own.  Thor’s eyes did not flinch as they stared into his with what he could only interpret as patience, something he had never known him to possess even a concept of.  He would have asked what he was waiting for, but the demoralizing muzzle was yet attached to his jaws.  Instead, he raised a raven eyebrow in question, careful to keep his look of conquered hesitancy.  Whatever the oaf thought he was planning, it would not matter to Loki.  He had only to bide his time.  He had survived much, thus far… his familial betrayal, the battle in Jotunheim; he had fallen from the Bifrost and come out whole, more powerful.  Nothing in Asgard was going to stand in his way.  Odin would not allow him to be sundered; the past had proven that well enough.  He would endure the punishment, whatever the form—where _were_ the guards? 

Thor finally backed a step away, tugging the tesseract’s container out of Loki’s hold, no longer needing him to hang on for the journey now ended.  Or was it?  Once provided with more to see, Loki’s eyes flicked to the sides and were not met by Asgardian glares, nor any flash of steel, nor a mighty steed carrying Odin’s might.  Nothing, in fact, met his gaze.

As surely as he was standing solidly on a firm ground, there was no matter at all to be beheld.  Below him, above him, to each side was the endless expanse of the universe, bespeckled with stars, galaxies and worlds too far away to touch.  Not one of the nine known worlds was visible.  Only the glow of the cube reflected off of Thor’s armor, glinting and gleaming off of each facet and shining the curves a cold blue on the silver.  For once, the god of thunder looked the cold one.  Azure eyes even brighter for the glow, Thor turned away from him, then, and for a moment disappeared, returning before Loki had any time to take advantage of his absence… and without the container.

Loki paused.  He could still feel the tingling electricity given off by the tesseract’s power, but it was decidedly weaker, as if it were suddenly much farther away.  Curious.  Anywhere Thor could have travelled using the cube’s power would have also required its use in order to return.  And he doubted even Thor was stupid enough to merely throw the container into space to keep it away from Loki.  Odin had use for it, as well.  Loki allowed his eyes to narrow slightly in suspicion, but otherwise remained still.  These surroundings were new to him, not flying or falling through the stars and empty space but standing firm among them.  He had to know the rules before they could be broken.

Thor took a breath before turning to meet his eyes.  “The tesseract is no longer here, brother,” he began in a firm, clear voice.  “It will lend you no more poison.”  He must have seen the amusement in Loki’s eyes, for he shook his head almost sadly.  “It _is_ a poison, brother.  In time, I hope you will be able to see the truth of that.”

He approached him then, drawing close enough for his breath to brush against Loki’s cheek.  “You are not to go all of the way home, just yet… It would do our father and mother ill to see you in such a state.”

So that was his game… rehabilitation.  With an inward smirk, he raised his head to look the god of thunder in the eyes, relaxing the muscles around his own, allowing a look of serenity to pass over his features in reply.

In return, Thor regarded him with a small smile burdened with regret.  “I have been made the fool by you enough times now, Loki.”  Thor reached a hand up to clasp the side of Loki’s neck, large thumb resting along his jugular, their pulses beating against each other.  “I will take care not to let it happen again.”  He could feel Thor’s muscles tense and flex, a sign of restraint so infrequently seen in him.  It seemed the brute could learn a new trick or two, after all.  Only one squeeze trembled through his control before he let go of Loki, almost violently, and stumbled back a few steps while his charge remained tranquilly still. 

The offending hand shook a bit more even as he let it dangle at his side.  There was a storm in his eyes as the tremor finally ceased, clouds clearing enough to focus one last time on Loki, a breath filling his lungs.  “I will return for you soon, brother…” and then the storm returned, if less intense.  “For a time, you will stay bound.  Take comfort that it will not last forever.”

So, he thought, not even the muzzle was to leave him, yet.  Perhaps his dear, deluded brother had learned at last how to be cruel.

Bravo.

Without another glance, Thor turned and once again disappeared into the dark abyss.  This time, however, no longer experiencing the spotted blindness of the cube’s overpowering light, Loki paid close attention to his brother’s movements.  As he had wondered, though it was subtle, Thor looked to make a motion as one opening a door, flicking it quickly closed once through.  There was no discrepancy in his view, no sign of an external space, but he knew now that he was not in the endless expanse of the universe, not really.  It was only an illusion.

With the guard dog gone, he closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic to try to break whatever spell had caused his illusory cage. 

Nothing happened. 

Taking a calming breath through his nose, he tried once more, to no avail.  Annoyed, he attempted to cast his consciousness out of his cell, anywhere else.  That, too, failed to work.  A low growl escaped his throat before he could contain it.  This game was _not_ to his liking.


	2. Chapter 2

He managed to keep his back straight, shoulders squared, as he shut the access door behind him.  Once through, he allowed himself to sink against it, sliding down to the floor.  Setting Mjölnir at his side with a resounding _clunk_ , he ran a tired hand over his face.  So much had happened in so short a time since he had left Asgard in search of Loki.  It had been a foolish hope that he could convince his brother to come home before more damage was done.  And there had been so much damage.  A certain amount of destruction was inevitable when gods walked the grounds of Midgard’s Earth, but Loki’s recruitment of the Chitauri had caused more than he had imagined.  More, even, than he had feared.

The people of Earth’s city would spend the next few months cleaning debris, breaking down the carcasses of the enemy’s ships, and rebuilding their lives.  Thor felt a kinship with their efforts, for in a way they mirrored his own.  He would spend the next expanse of time clearing the debris from his brother’s mind, or so he hoped to do.  He did not know if it could truly be done, but his hope was strong.   Gentle care had not worked so far.  Appealing to reason had seen no result.  Thor sighed.  He was exhausted.  Even gods needed rest, but he knew he could only allow himself a very small amount before returning to his brother.

Stretching out his legs, he laid his head back against the cold stone of the door, closing his eyes.  He quickly opened them again when he was greeted not be darkness, but by Loki’s eyes, staring into his, filled with anguish.  Thor shook his head to rid himself of the vision.  Loki could not trick him right now, could not reach beyond the barrier of strong magic inside which his prison had been placed.  No, the source of the image had been Thor’s own mind, and he must shut out all of those feelings and distractions if he was to succeed in bringing his brother back.  He had to focus, or lose all.

Inhaling deeply, he filled his mind with thoughts of the home still yet far away among the cosmos.  Asgard, the halls of his people, his father… and, as he became more sleepy, his thoughts drifted back to the Earth, and to Jane, who he would have rather visited during a stay on Earth than fight his own kin.  He let out the breath slowly, allowing himself a rest. 

*             *             *

With no shifting light and not even an hourglass to indicate its movement, Loki had no accurate measure of how much time had passed by the time Thor next appeared.  From his level of boredom, however, he imagined it had been hours, possibly a day or two.  He had discovered, during his time alone, that his cell did in fact have limits that open space did not, in addition to the floor on which he stood.  Where Thor had disappeared was an invisible wall.  There were three others, as well, though they were some ways away from the first.  He had calculated that the first wall was forty paces from its mate, and the other pair was an equal distance from each other. 

He had no way of determining, but he had briefly wondered if it was a true cube or some sort of building’s room.  He could only interact with the floor thus far, not the ceiling, if there were one at all.  Nothing had been left for him to occupy his time, nor to sustain him.  Granted, he did not possess Thor’s ravenous appetite for food, still sooner or later he would need to eat something. That is, if the mouth-piece would be taken off long enough for him to eat. 

After exploring the floor, he settled in to await his captor’s return, slowly testing his muscles.  He was limited by the shackles, but from the movement he was allowed, he assessed he was recovering well from his attack.  Leaning his head angled sharply to either side, he clicked the bones of his neck back into their proper alignment, a twist or two doing the same for his back.  Not long after that, his wait was over.

With no physically present door, there had been no click of a latch, no squeak of hinges; there had not been any sound, in fact, yet Loki was aware the instant Thor had reentered his cell.  Turning to face him, he stared calmly at the disheveled figure that met his gaze.  Thor’s hair was mussed, whether from sleep or the ravishing of his own hands, he couldn’t be certain.  He doubted much of the first, considering the still-present exhaustion the other Asgardian wore like a cloak. 

He stood still as Thor approached him, reaching for the chain that connected his shackled wrists.  Neither of them broke eye contact as the chain was lifted and set in the air as if on a hook, though Loki was sure no such thing had been there earlier.  Then again, he had been sure there was no door when they had first arrived.  With a shift of his shoulders, he tested the strength of his new restraint, hanging a portion of his weight on it.  It held.

Once he was sufficiently dangled, Thor reached forward and grasped the sides of the muzzle, sliding his fingers along the grooves that would release the latches, though for his hands alone.  Thick fingertips in place, he paused.  “This can come off for now, brother,” he began, eyes not leaving Loki’s, “but take care how you use the freedom, or it will only return.”  Seeming to be satisfied that Loki understood, Thor slid his fingers the last short distance to disengage the prongs that had been biting into Loki’s jaw.  He could not help the skin around his eyes twitching as the prongs retracted, but rewarded his brother no gasp or groan of discomfort.  Thor eased the mask forward, allowing Loki’s mouth to adjust enough to let out the bit previously shoved between his teeth, having held his tongue prisoner beneath its weight. 

In moments, the mask was off.  Loki worked his lower jaw side to side, testing its renewed range of motion, felt it click as he opened it wide.  As he closed it, he could feel the slowly snaking warmth across his skin as the wounds caused by the muzzle began to bleed.  It mattered very little.  Most of the injuries on his face had already healed once leaving Midgard.  Soon enough the holes would not even remain, unless the mask be reapplied.

Lifting his chin as he met Thor’s eyes again, he allowed a small chuckle.  “What happens now, ‘brother’?” he asked, teeth bared in a half-amused sneer.  “Am I to be tortured?  Treated to more boredom, perhaps?”  He broke eye contact to look him over, head tilting to the side ever so slightly.  “How are you intending to teach me the error of my ways?”

Thor’s expression did not change, did not twitch.  Perhaps he simply did not understand the words.  It would not have been the first time. 

“I will do whatever I must, brother, to give you what you need to be well.”  Thor let out a frustrated sigh as Loki merely laughed.  “It is not a game, Loki.”

“Oh, but it is, Odinson.”  Loki raised his eyebrows, tilting his face upwards slightly so that he was looking down his nose at Thor, if not physically able to look down at him.  “Isn’t it all?”

Thor shook his head, its gilded bulk looking as weighted on his shoulders as Mjölnir in the hand of a Midgardian human.  He spoke no more, but reached out to unhook the strap connecting the front of Loki’s tunic to his opposite shoulder.  Threading it through its loops, he loosened it around Loki’s shoulders, briefly eyeing the hook holding his shackles before just breaking the metal rings and ripping the leather down the sleeves, stripping his arms bare. 

Loki lifted an eyebrow, but received no reply to his curiosity as the rest of his tunic was rent and shredded, followed by his under-tunic, until he was naked to the waist.  Thick, calloused fingers rested at the skin of his waist, which was pulled taut from his suspension.  Keeping his gaze on Thor’s eyes, which had shifted downward to watch his own fingertips, Loki felt the fingers drag along his sides, tracing the ridge of his pelvis.  With a cold stare, he watched the other god’s tongue run along the inside edge of his lips as his thumbs brushed the top of Loki’s groin.

The sensation sent his mind back to a time when Loki had just reached his age rites.  Odin All-father had proclaimed him an adult; there had been a celebration and feast in his honor.  Despite the raucous celebration so typical of Asgardians in revelry, Thor had been quieter than usual that day.  He had looked to be in thought through the festivities, not a common appearance on his beastly face.  He was never one to miss a party and a flagon of mead, however, and so had still joined with the crowd around the feasting table, still eaten his share—a considerable one—of the ever-fattened boar, still laughed when a jest was made. 

It had been after, back inside the rooms they shared, that his demeanor had changed once again.  Loki had returned later in the night than Thor. Though not as practiced a carouser as his older brother, he held a deeper sense of propriety and would not dishonor his guests by abandoning a celebration on his own behalf.  Saying his final goodnights and thank-yous to the last well-wishing drunkards that very nearly followed him right into his bedchamber, he recalled tiredly closing the door, leaning his forehead against its cool surface for a moment before turning around, eyes met by—

Jolted back to the present, he could not stop a distracted wince and gasp as his arms were yanked painfully, stressing the joints and tendons holding them in their sockets.  Thor had shoved him roughly away, causing his body to lift in the air, feet for a moment above the invisible floor as he swung back before struggling to regain purchase against it.  Thor was no longer touching him; no longer did his eyes take the measure of Loki’s bared skin.  It seemed he had spooked himself.

Steadying his feet and his gaze, Loki regarded the other Asgardian closely.  Thor did not meet his eyes.  Instead, he bent down to gather the tattered wreckage that had once been a pleasing tunic, which appeared at the moment to be inexplicably floating in the middle of space were it not for the knowledge of a deceptive floor.  Once the pile was successfully balled up and tucked under Thor’s arm, Loki watched him look over the remaining clothing still covering his lower half.  Clear blue eyes lingered a moment on his feet before the bundle was once again set down, and those thick fingers were struggling with the more complicated straps and fastenings of his boots.  Despite what could easily be described as a child’s disadvantage at the task, Thor managed to ease the stiff leather casings off of Loki’s feet, setting each foot carefully to rest against the floor, but touching the leg only through the edge of his pants.  Loki’s pale, bare skin was being carefully avoided.

He stood, then, boots and clothing tucked under his bulky arms.  “I will get you something to eat, brother,” was all he spoke, the words sent over his shoulder as he faced the general direction of the door.  Flaxen locks twisting slightly as he almost looked back, Thor quickly walked out.  The door made no sound to be heard, though Loki imagined it would have slammed had it been a door anywhere else but there. 


	3. Chapter 3

What was he doing?  This had not been the plan.  Pain, yes, perhaps more than he would prefer, but whatever would help restore the balance inside.  But this?  Taking his clothing?  It hardly seemed a worthy attempt at a fix.  Dumping the pile on the floor outside the enchanted door, Thor made his way to the washroom inside the small compound. 

It was a little place, truly, only housing what rooms might be required for one holding another hostage—originally built for imprisonment, and not for rehabilitation.  Some of the childhood mischief of the princes of Asgard had led to its inception, and Loki’s first out-lashing had led to the completion of its form.  There was the door, of course, a washroom, a bedchamber, a larder that had been stocked with enchanted stores of food that would replenish themselves once depleted, and an empty room unfinished but available for unforeseen needs.  Thor had yet to visit any of the other rooms prior to leaving his brother’s half-stripped body in the holding cell.

Dipping cupped hands beneath the flow of an austere decorative fountain, he let their space fill before splashing the cool water at his face.  He did this several times before he felt the skin ease the heat that had risen to its surface.  He had not forgotten the feel of Loki’s skin, but had not expected to react so strongly to one mere contact against his fingers.  They were so different, in mind and in body; he so firm and battle rough, and Loki so much smoother, almost delicate.  Thor’s body burned with action and the need for it, ever contrasted by the collected, cool surface of his brother. 

He supposed, knowing now the difference in their parentage, that some of the disparity could be due to the variances between their races, but Thor believed their raising had more of an effect on them than simply who had born them.  After all, Frigga had not given birth to either of them, yet she was ever the doting and loving mother to them both.  Even confronted with the knowledge of Loki’s betrayals, she did not hold an anger in her heart against him.  There were times Thor wished his passions ran as deep and as tranquil as those of his mother.

And to have her counsel, now, would ease his burden.  She had always been better at calming and quieting the boys as younglings.  When Odin’s words or hand would sting their hearts or hides, her arms were a comforting blanket, her words a soothing balm.  He could not indulge in her compassion, yet, however.  For if he were to return to Asgard empty-handed, it would arouse suspicion.  And, worse yet, to admit the choice he had made in lieu of bringing Loki straight home to be judged would be nigh unto confessing to treason, no matter the logic he might supply. 

No, he was alone in this.  He did not dare even to involve Sif, whose mind had always entertained a keen edge, for fear of the consequences she might face.  Besides, attempting to contact and recruit her alone would no doubt garner the attentions of Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg; if Sif would be quiet help alone, together they would inevitably carouse more loudly than a herd of bilgesnipe. 

A small smile graced his lips at the thought of his boisterous friends.  As fellow warriors and as comrades, they had seen both good times and bad, had shared much of their lives together.  His smile was chased away by a frown at the thought of them, too, turning from their shared pasts and shutting him out.  Though they had not done so, he could feel the potential sting.  If his brother, his most treasured companion, could turn so sharply, how could friendship compare?  With a frustrated grunt, he back-handed the water pooled in the base of the fountain, satisfied at least with the reach of its resulting splash. 

He would gather some food enough for a meal for them both.  Shaking the droplets from his hands, he stepped away from the fountain, heading down the corridor to the larder.  Inside were stacks of casks containing wines and meads, dried meats hanging from hooks on the ceiling, and shelves bearing baskets of never-rotting fruits, unspoilable cheeses, and ever-fresh breads.  Thor inhaled deeply through his nostrils, flaring them wide to allow more of the intoxicating scent of the food to enter into his nose.  How he had missed a good feast. 

As youths, he and Volstagg had taken part in many a competitive indulgence; who could eat the larger boar, the most platefuls, drain the highest number of mead goblets… Loki had merely watched.  Fandral and Hogun cheered one or the other of them on; Sif usually sat among them, amused.  Though his friends joined him in the breaking of bread, his brother rarely ate more than a plateful at a time. 

Thor glanced down at the tray he had filled amidst distracting thoughts.  Loki would never be able to polish off the piles of food he had absent-mindedly loaded.  He could, himself, on a better day, but hardly felt in the mood to feast properly.  Putting back two of the three legs of lamb, one loaf of bread, a handful of fruit and leaving the same, he deemed the tray empty enough to sustain them both without needing to return anything to the magically-preservative larder chamber. 

Stopping a moment to consider the problem of carrying the tray along with proper drink to wash down the gullet, he was relieved to spot a wineskin hanging from one of the shelves.  He slipped its strap over his shoulder and made his way back down the corridor towards the enchanted door.  Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and sang the runes that served as a key to safeguard its entry.  His rich baritone echoed in the empty stone hall, lending greater volume and resonance to his words.  Song finished, he waited as the seal of the door appeared more prominently around its edges, and stepped inside the moment it swung inward.

“Brother, I have returned with sustanen—” Thor stopped mid-word and blinked his eyes in confusion.  He stared directly at the spot in which he had left his brother chained, suspended, and yet he was nowhere to be seen.  The hook was still present, in fact, and so were the chains.  It was as if Loki had vanished into thin air.

*             *             *

It had worked perfectly, even better than he had planned… 

His magical prowess was growing even faster every year he aged, and he was finally able to perform more complex illusions.  He had begun, of course, with small objects.  His mother’s jewels, Thor’s food—most often Thor’s food.  Even as a small child, his brother’s appetite knew few bounds.  It was hardly a challenge to get him to eat something that had been magically replaced, but it provided Loki with more opportunities than anything else readily available.  And it was extremely satisfying.  More often than not, Thor did not even notice that his food had been tampered with.  Sometimes, Loki told him what he had really ingested when he thought he had shoved a biscuit down his throat, but for the most part it was perfectly enjoyable simply to know that he had succeeded.

One of his proudest moments had come when they were still quite young.  He had been practicing and perfecting the form and appearance of their father for weeks.  Tweaking the facets of his favorite tunic, the growth of his beard, the wrinkles around his eye, how much weight he put on either foot when he stood or walked… it was finally ready.  Its use had been planned for longer than his practice sessions.  Thor’s day of birth was to be celebrated, the festivities announced far in advance.  Prior to the more free-form ceremony, there would be a formal presentation of gifts from dignitaries.  Before that, Odin and Frigga liked to give the boys gifts privately.  It was during the personal exchange that Loki planned to begin his trick.

As expected, he and Thor had been called into one of the family’s common rooms just outside their bedchambers.  Both of them had taken care to wear fresh tunics, clean their hands and faces, and make their hair presentable.  Loki had helped Thor, of course, as the other boy rarely combed it correctly—he had little patience for such simple tasks.  Together, they approached their parents, standing properly, shoulder to shoulder, despite it not being Loki’s day of birth.  Thor was presented with a pair of gauntlets, leather woven with braided silver.  His eyes had gleamed at the gift, and he had immediately donned them, wanting to look his best for the ceremonies.  Their parents had left, then, to go on ahead and get things ready.

Now.

As Thor held up his arms to show off his present, Odin reappeared in the doorway, this time alone.  Thor’s attentions diverted, Loki had time to readjust the last few details to perfect the illusion.

“Yes, father?” he had spoken respectfully, with the same deference he would have offered the actual presence of Odin Allfather.

Thor turned quickly, jumping into a battle-ready stance, arms poised to display his new gauntlets.  “They are wonderful, father,” he spoke excitedly, firmly.  “I will wear them always, to honor you!”

Odin laughed lightly, not entirely mockingly, but amused.  Simple, keep it simple.  “Come, my son.”  And when Thor only looked curiously up at him, he added, “I have another gift for you, my son.”

Thor had grinned, turning his bright, greedy eyes on Loki with pride.  “I’ll be back, brother.”  With that, Odin had led him out of the room, out of the castle, and to a parapet overlooking the bright outlying city of Asgard.  Loki followed him from a safe distance, close enough to control his illusion, far enough not to be seen or heard by Thor, though the second was not as much of a problem.  It wasn’t that Thor was stupid, in fact he had moments of actual intelligence.  It was just that he lacked a good portion of common sense much of the time, and generally failed to analyze his experiences either during or afterward.  He just… existed.  And it came easily for him.  While Loki put constant effort into being what and who he should, Thor just floated along as if life itself were a game.  And so Loki made it one.  Why not?

Just as Thor was about to question their distraction, an ear-splitting screech rent the air.  A large shadow engulfed them, followed quickly by a feathered body. Their hair was blown back as four large wings beat to set the beast down stably on the tower roof.  Loki was quite pleased with his work as Odin’s hair and tunic both reacted to the blast of air.  Odin’s arm swung out, indicating the four-winged hawk that was four times the size of a grown man, and Thor had enough sense to know he was getting a ride.  A saddle had already been fitted on the beast, a part which had taken more devious effort than magical practice.  He had set up the ride weeks ago, managing to keep it separate and discreet from the celebration’s events.

Thor clambered on, grinning his fool head off, and the gigantic bird took flight, soaring off the tower and into the clear air with a loud screech.  As soon as Thor’s back was turned, Odin disappeared.  Loki watched to be sure the hawk was carrying his brother far enough away before making his way back inside, back to their parents where they waited, already practicing his innocent and oblivious expressions. 

Thor would be fantastically late to his own birthday party, causing a stir at the least and trouble at the best.  Perhaps Loki could even taste the desserts before he’d arrive back to smash his face into them.  He smirked, a spring in his step all the way back to the banquet hall.

It was good to be a prince…

…And he was a prince… no matter which parentage he looked to.  He was royalty, a god, not a prisoner and not a plaything.

Silently seething behind where he knew the door would open, Loki awaited his “brother’s” return, smirking to himself at his own cleverness.  For times such as this, he never revealed all of his talents to anyone—allowing them to be lulled into a sense of security that he was incapable of causing chaos at the given moment.  It was not long before the door opened and Thor appeared, wineskin slung over his shoulder, hands occupied by a tray of food and eyes by the chains that had been holding Loki’s wrists mere moments ago.

He watched and waited as Thor stepped forward, dumbfounded by the sight, as expected.  Soundlessly, Loki crept toward the spot along the wall where the door was, recognizing, as he’d theorized, the tingling sensation of magic that indicated the door was still open. 

He was just about to step through it when a concussion of wind slammed against his body, knocking him to the floor and the breath from his lungs with an involuntary _oof_.  Surprised, dazed, he looked up as he started to regroup.

Thor was staring down at him, food cast aside for the moment.  He did not look pleased.

“No, Loki.”  Thor’s voice carried a sadness that sickened him.  He sounded far too much like the reproachful Allfather.  “It will not be that simple, brother.”


	4. Chapter 4

“It will not be that simple, brother,” had come Thor’s reproach. 

Simple.  Thor knew nothing of complexity, nothing of the efforts he had made, the lengths to which he was yet willing to go.  Though it did appear that brother-dear had gained a bit of sense.  A year or two ago, he might have even been proud of him.

Keeping his gaze upwards but shifting his attention back to the door, he could tell that it had closed once more.  “Impressive,” he mocked, covering a groan as he slid himself backward along the floor and sat up.  Resting his palms on his knees and feet on the floor, he tilted his head as he regarded Thor.  “Was that your own doing, _brother_ , or part of your special cell?”

“The door has been instructed to open for my touch alone.”  Thor’s brow furrowed, and Loki found himself repulsed once more to see the evidence of pity in his gaze.  “It will not allow you to leave without my word, brother.”

“And just what IS your word, ‘brother’?”  Loki’s lips curled into a sneer at the title.

Thor’s shoulders still hung with inner weight as he stepped to the side to retrieve the tray of food he had brought.  “I told you, we will remain here until you’ve gotten better.”

Loki gestured with a sweep of his arm to indicate the room.  “Then why not drop your pretenses?  Why not show this cage for what it truly is?”  Thor should be acknowledging his imprisonment, but Loki foremost simply disliked the current illusory décor.  Seeing the expanse of the cosmos was not beautiful or comforting when one had fallen through them, unsure if an end was ever in sight or possible, unsure what would happen if there was an end.  The Chitauri had been a better destination than death, but that had not worked out as well as he had hoped. 

He couldn’t help the memory reentering his mind for a moment.  Letting go of Odin’s staff had been his choice; he had willfully chosen whatever might come of it, but he had not thought through the potential results.  Part of him had even hoped, for a few moments, that he would land in Jotunheim.  It was, after all, his true birthplace.  If Asgard wouldn’t have him, perhaps the Jotuns could be made to appreciate his greatness as their new king.  He could have covered the death of Laufey; after all, the only Jotun witnesses were equally dead.  And the damage done by the power of the bifrost, if not totalizing, could be blamed on Odin’s wrath upon his waking.  Or even on Thor.  The Jotuns had no knowledge of the manner in which he had returned from Midgard and the wretched, pathetic Earth.

That plan could not have worked.  Though he was made aware later that the land of the Frost Giants was not completely destroyed, it would likely never recover, even if it had its precious casket.  And that was not where he had landed.  Instead, he fell for a long time, longer than he would have thought possible.  It had given him plenty of time to think about his choices, his plans, and what he really wanted.  He no longer desired the love and approval of Odin.  Thor’s attempt to “rehabilitate” him was even more laughable for the change. 

The fool was talking, and Loki was brought back out of his reverie.

“…Since you are reacting to it as a room, anyway.”  Thor walked over to the door space, placing his palm flat against the wall.  The space around his fingers began to glow and it radiated outward, steadily spreading along the length of that wall to the next at each corner, and finally to the last.  The glow intensified with the ring completed, and with a much brighter flash the image of stars and distant worlds disappeared, leaving only cold stone walls, a rough-hewn stone floor, and a ceiling high-vaulted above their heads. 

“Does this suit you better, brother?”  Thor’s voice came with a slight echo as he still faced the wall.  And the door.  Loki could clearly see the door, now, though it would apparently do him little good until he could work through the magic that powered the cell’s barrier.  If he could find the secret paths between the worlds to bypass the Bifrost and Heimdall’s gaze, he could get himself out of a box.  Although, perhaps it did not have to be that complicated, after all.  Loki allowed himself to take an appraising look over Thor when he turned from the door, settling the tray beside him as he sat down on the floor.

After everything that had happened in the span of time since his initial banishment to Earth by Odin, Thor had changed quite a bit.  Once could say he had grown; they both had.  Exile had a unique way of refocusing one’s perspective.  Thor’s demeanor was less brash, his actions carrying less violence of mood.  He could still be reduced to the almost animalistic rage, however; Loki had witnessed that when Thor had first returned to Midgard and fought against the Iron Man in the woods.  Perhaps it need only be teased back out of him.

“I’m not hungry,” he led with as he was offered food from the tray.  The promise of torturing the other man would give him more to sup upon than a few meats and fruit.

“Brother, you must eat something.”  Tearing off what he must have thought to be a small chunk of bread, Thor compiled a palm-sized sandwich and held it out for him.  “Just this, at the least.” 

Loki’s gaze followed the sandwich then flicked back to Thor’s face.  “I am not hungry,” he repeated.

“You have not eaten in days.  Even your small appetite needs to be sustained.”

Loki took the sandwich from Thor’s fingers, allowing him a moment of hope that he’d won him over before replacing the pile of meat and bread back on the tray, brushing off the crumbs from his fingers. 

The action brought out its desired effect as a frustrated growl emanated from Thor’s throat.  Moving with quick yet jerky motions, Thor grabbed a bite-sized piece of bread and meat from the sandwich and proceeded to grab Loki’s hair tightly and roughly with his free hand, yanking his head back painfully sharply and using his small gasp to shove the food into his mouth.  Once in, Thor’s meaty hand clapped over Loki’s mouth in order to keep him from spitting out the bite.  Unconcerned with finesse in his rage-filled outburst, Thor’s fingers dug into Loki’s jaw.  He was almost certain to have purple bruises around the muzzle’s injuries later, though he couldn’t say he really minded the current sensation.  Pain was reality, after all.  Grounding.  It was a frame of reference upon which experience was based.  He had learned that, as well, during his time of exile.

Thick fingers dug themselves more deeply as Loki refused to swallow, staring coldly up at the brash god of thunder, baiting the reserves of his rage that still lay beneath the surface.

It was not to be this time, as the hand gripping his jaw moved instead to slip over his throat, sending a brief thrill through Loki’s body.  He did not squeeze, but rubbed firmly, tilting Loki’s head backwards, as one who wishes to feed a frightened or uncooperative animal.

“Swallow.”

Loki could not help his own amusement at the irony of his treatment.  Yet he was curious enough to see where this went, and so he swallowed rather indulgently.  Thor’s hands left him the moment he did, and Loki reached up to wipe a few errant breadcrumbs from his mouth.

He looked up in time to see a rather spooked expression on the other’s face, whose eyes were focused on the offending hands once more.  Loki’s eyes narrowed as he considered what might be crossing Thor’s mind.  It couldn’t be having caused him pain, he had done that before.  His jaw hardly counted as a pleasure zone, yet it was the same look as earlier.  Did Thor remember that night, as well?

“You should eat more,” spoke the unnerved oaf.  His eyes flicked from his hands to Loki’s mouth and back again before he reached to gather another small sandwiched bit. 

Loki did not bother resisting the initial insertion, though feinted a move to spit out the bite, tempting him.  His efforts were rewarded with the return of the forcefully strong hands, this time with their owner’s face much closer to his own.

“Swallow, Loki.”  This time, the command was accompanied by a gulp of its own, Thor’s hand sliding to the side of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair at the nape.  Loki could see him shiver slightly, and he swallowed again, not really tasting the food.  A rough-skinned thumb ran over his lips as the hand ceased its cover, nail pulling just slightly at the very edge as it left.  He raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he was aware of the movement, and was about to add a quip when his mouth was suddenly covered once more…

…but not by Thor’s _hand_.

*             *             *

He couldn’t help himself.  Skin like porcelain, raven locks so soft and thick, lips so full… He had felt them pressing against his palm as he had held it over Loki’s mouth.  They were warm, in contrast against the cool feel of the rest of his brother’s skin, yet matching the heat in his own.  They pulsed beneath his palm.  They called to him, just as they had so long ago.  In the moment, he found himself unable to resist any longer.

And so he shifted his hand.  He allowed himself to feel the supple skin, and he let go of the control he’d been maintaining since the celebration of rites, so long ago. 

Mouth parted as he breathed in his need, Thor ducked his head down to meet Loki’s in a firm kiss.  He was feeling it too strongly for finesse, too strongly to be gentle.  Inhaling through his nose, his fingers curled amongst the dark locks and gripped them tight, giving a light tug.  Loki’s head tilted back slightly at the pull, but Thor followed him almost harshly, mouth pressed so tightly against his that he tasted the metallic tinge of blood.  Though, at the moment, he couldn’t tell whose it was.  At the moment, he did not care.


	5. Chapter 5

Loki turned away from the door to head into his bedchamber from the common room the brothers shared.  The moment he did, he was met by his brother’s face, inches from his own, as the older boy bent slightly to be on his level.  Skin tanned, jaw lined with a slight stubble—of which he was obscenely proud—his face split into a toothy grin as Loki jumped just a little for his benefit.  Of course, no one was able to really sneak up on him.  He had been aware of Thor’s presence in the room, but there seemed little harm in indulging the boy when little things were so important to him.

“I’ve started you,” he grinned, “my apologies, brother.”  Inherent in his tone was the clear fact that he was in no way actually sorry.

“Yes,” he indulged further, allowing his voice a breathless quality to match his false startlement.  “You have done so again, brother.”  He smiled tiredly, expecting the exchange was over and they would go their separate ways for the night.  Yet Thor did not move.  “It is getting past the lamp hours,” he reminded him.  The two of them often stayed up past the hours they were told to allow the night to find their rooms, usually telling stories or challenging one another to new dares.  But the day had been busy, and Loki suspected they both were tired from its activities, even if Thor appeared wide awake and ready for action—his natural state. 

“I know,” Thro grinned, and then looked more serious for a moment.  “I have been waiting hours for you to return, brother…”

Loki arched a thin, black eyebrow in curiosity.  “Waiting for me?  What,” he teased, “the mighty, scruffy Thor too frightened to go to sleep alone in the dark?”

“Scruffy?...” he returned, adding extra emphasis to the first syllable.

“Why, yes, haven’t you heard?”  He leaned forward and spoke more quietly, conspiratorially.  “The flaxen prince has sprouted a most horrendous fluffy substance upon his jaw and chin.”  Clicking his tongue in mock disapproval, he continued, “All who hear of it lament the unfortunate befalling.  It is just an unseemly occurrence for such a young royal…”  He might have continued, teasing the brawny boy did inspire him so, but Thor’s thunderous laughter broke his flow and brought a more sincere smile to his lips. 

Thor’s large hand clapped him on the shoulder.  “You, my brother, have always been good for a jest!”

Loki smiled still, until noticing that Thor’s hand had yet to leave its position on his shoulder after a few moments.  “Yes, well…” he began, glancing at the hand.  Before he could continue, its mate moved to match the grasp on the opposite shoulder.  His brow twitched before he could help it, and he turned his head to look back at Thor, who was no longer laughing.  His tanned face had turned much more serious, and he was staring at Loki with a ferocity that Loki had never seen in his eyes.

Except, perhaps, when directed at food. 

Loki was aware of the older boy’s thumbs shifting along the fabric of his tunic, their calloused pads making a soft shushing sound as they ran against the texture.  “This one is my favorite of the ones you wear, brother.”  Thor’s voice was softer, but still full of the resonance it had more recently acquired as he had grown. 

Loki chuckled slightly, unsure, for the moment, what to expect from his elder sibling.  It was a very unusual occurrence for Thor to act in any sort of unpredictable manner.  “Well, they are all rather similar, really,” he smiled. “Perhaps your favorite is simply ‘the green one’.”

He had of course meant it in jest, but Thor shook his head solemnly.  “No, it is this one,” he reiterated.  Rough fingertips ran along the seams at his shoulders, across the embroidered designs stretching across the chest, stopping at the collar.  “The differences are subtle, but they are there.”  Thor fingered the edge of Loki’s collar, running the top of his index finger down its edge to where the two sides met, his nail catching on the top toggle.  “You wear this one on occasions you feel are most special,” he added.

“Do I?” he rejoined, surprised that the other boy was able to pick up on such subtleties, attention to detail not being his strong suit.

Thor nodded and shifted his hand to run along the top of the tunic’s collar again.  Rough fingertips grazed his neck, the teasing sensation causing the fine hairs there to stand on end.  He remained still even as he felt those fingers glide into his hair, giving it a light tug, light even for one without his superior strength.

Swallowing the suspicion rising steadily in his throat and keeping it from his voice, Loki held still as he spoke.  “I thought we were beyond the age of hair-pulling, brother…”

Thor did not smile this time, either.  If anything, his gaze intensified as his face loomed closer.  Loki barely had time to wonder what his brother was thinking before the distance between them disappeared entirely.  It took another half a moment for him to realize that Thor’s mouth was covering his own. 

Apparently, all of the older boy’s restraint had been spent on the tug to Loki’s hair, for the moment their lips met Loki’s body was pressed back against the wall by Thor’s.  One meaty hand still grasping his dark locks, the other roughly gripped at his hip.  Thor inhaled deeply through his nose, gathering Loki’s body against his own even as he pinned it to the wall. 

It was not often that Loki was taken by surprise, not often that he felt unprepared for even new experiences.  He made certain to ready himself daily for any number of possible outcomes or situations.  There was always the threat of war with the Jotuns.  There was the less likely but still possible event that something new, unexpected and uninvited would find its way through the Bifrost and past Heimdall’s careful watch.  There were also endless ways in which Thor himself could cause mischief, break nearly anything he so much as touched, or simply have a tantrum over one of the Allfather’s rules.

This, however, had never once crossed his mind as a possibility.  He knew full well that it was not merely men and women that shared intimate contact with one another, but Thor’s attentions had usually been aimed at Sif as she blossomed into a woman’s shape.  Loki had been guilty of more than a few glances in her direction, as well.  Never once had Loki felt his brother’s gaze upon him as anything but innocent.  At least, it was innocent of this kind of desire.  Jealousy, certainly, if ever Loki managed to wrangle a word or two of praise from father.  Near hatred when Loki was very small as mother doted more on his comparatively frail form.  The vast majority of the boy’s actions even as a young child were born of his avarice for attention and power. 

He wasn’t certain this fell under either, directly.

Coming out of the stun he had fallen into, he reached up his hand to try to push at his brother’s shoulder, but it was instead grabbed up in Thor’s meaty hand.  The older boy pinned his hand against the wall, having abandoned his waist for the moment.  He didn’t need to hold there since one set of hips currently held the other fast.  Loki could have ducked away, even unmatched in strength as they were, but he never preferred to let on how much he was affected by an attack, and so for the moment he waited it out.

He soon felt the pressure of a curious tongue, and he decided to let it end there for the moment.  As soon as the wet tip found its way forcefully between his lips, he shifted the tilt of his back and clicked his jaw enough to nip the ends of his teeth at the intruder.  It worked, of course; Thor pulled back sharply, rolling his tongue to taste the blood in his mouth. 

Touching his fingertips to his lips, Thor pulled them back to view their scarlet tinge curiously.  “You bit me,” he pronounced, clearly surprised.

“Yes,” Loki replied with much more calm than he felt.  “You kissed me.”

“I can’t help it.”  His words were soft and low, as if convincing himself as much as Loki.  Licking his fingers clean, he stroked his hand lightly down Loki’s cheek, the trail blazing with the heat of his skin.  “I just… had to…”

Loki straightened his back, raising his chin a bit on his own even with the offending hand still tangled up in his hair.  “And now?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows as he met Thor’s gaze. 

“I…”

“What do you feel now, brother?” he elaborated, allowing his tone to harden slightly, demanding an answer.

It was clear Thor’s attention was anywhere but on the question as his eyes poured over Loki’s face, and then continued down his body.  Rather than answering verbally, Thor released his handful of hair, pushing aside the collar of Loki’s tunic and wrapping his large hands around Loki’s waist, nearly encompassing it between them.  Heated breath brushed along Loki’s cheek as their foreheads pressed together.  Even through their thick clothing, he could feel a hardness pressing against his pelvis.  As much as he would have rather believed it to have been simply a codpiece, he knew better.  He opened his mouth to question again, but found it once again stolen by his brother’s, harshly, and suddenly enough to cut the edge of his lip against Thor’s teeth.

In protest, he grasped at the exposed biceps, between his gauntlets and shoulder armor, giving a push in the hopes of encouraging him to back away.  Unfortunately, Thor took the touch as encouragement to continue, as Loki felt grasping hands shift to his back, and one below, fingers spreading out across his bottom…

He was just beginning to find it hard to breathe when a steady-handed knock against the door beside them startled them both, Thor enough to jump back away from the wall and relinquish his hold, a guilty look upon his face despite his tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

Taking a slow breath, Loki turned away from him, stepping over to answer the door as he listened to Thor’s footfalls retreat back towards his bedchamber.

*             *             *

He had learned to like the taste of blood.  It excited him, made him yearn for action.  If asked, he would tell anyone it was linked to the battle in his mind, that the taste of it reminded him of conflict, of tasting the defeat of his foes.

That was a lie.

Oh, he delighted in conflict, had been known to sample the blood spilled from those he had conquered, even, but that was not why the taste of blood excited him.  It was his first taste of someone else’s that made him crave more.  It was the taste of his brother. 

It had been years since their encounter, years since he had forced his desire onto the lithe form that so enthralled his senses.  He had not touched him that way again, afterward.  After that, there had been others, of course, on whom he had focused his attentions.  He could not speak for Loki’s exploits, as the younger boy never shared how he spent his time when not with him or the others.  Thor had his suspicions, but was far too busy finding his own entertainment between adventures with Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three.  He had made quite a name for himself as a hot-headed warrior during his youth, but, among the right people, he had also garnered a reputation for personal adventure. 

Yet, even through all of that, through his almost-coronation, through the battle of Jotunheim and Loki’s fall, through everything that had transpired on Earth, he still remembered the feel and taste of cool, smooth skin, of blood, his blood.  Loki’s blood.

He knew, then, that it was Loki’s blood in his mouth and not his own.  The knowledge sparked a fire inside of him.  He could feel it coursing through his bones, through every fiber of his being.  Almost before he knew what was happening, he found himself over his brother, pressing down tightly against him, pinning him to the floor as he once had the wall. 

One large hand enclosed on a pale and bony shoulder, its mate covered an entire side of the smaller man’s taut, smooth chest.  He could feel his rough and calloused skin scraping against Loki’s, catching on the thinner, more vulnerable skin covering his nipple.  No sound issued from his brother’s throat, but he could feel the muscles beneath his hand contract as his body stiffened in response to the touch. 

_“Do you swear…”_

His father’s words suddenly echoed through Thor’s mind.  It was so strong, the voice so clear, that it startled him enough to cause him to pull back up from his hold on Loki.  He knew they were alone, could only be, yet he still found himself looking about the room in search of the voice’s source.  Nothing but stone walls greeted him in return.  His distraction did, however, succeed in giving Loki an opportunity to slide out from under his hold a little before Thor could recover.

“Something spook you, brother?” Loki sneered.  His voice had no hint of patience, no pretense of actual concern.  The quality of it reminded him of their fight inside Heimdall’s station.

_“…to cast aside all selfish ambition…”_

He heard it again, recognized it as the oath he had sworn to, even though the coronation it preceded had not completed.  He was yet a prince of Asgard, not its king, but he had taken the oath to heart and would not, could not, abandon it. 

Taking stock of himself, his brother, and his grasp, Thor knew his actions were not being carried out for the right reasons.  That fact acknowledged, he slid his hands under Loki’s armpits, lifting the startled man much like one would lift a small child.  Keeping a firm hold even as the other man struggled, he carried him over toward the spot where the chains hung empty from the ceiling. 

Thor set him down briefly, immediately sliding his hands down Loki’s arms to grab the slender wrists up in them.  Before they could be loosed from his hold by any sly means, he quickly re-bound them snugly above Loki’s head.

Once they were secured, his hands ran down Loki’s arms, unable to help slipping their holds around his sides and waist.  A shiver ran through him at feeling the firm form beneath his fingertips.  His brother was delicate in build, but strong and well-toned for what he lacked in comparative bulk.  It made for a solid, sleek body, an absolute pleasure-inducing feeling.

But he was not there for pleasure, he was there to help Loki come back to himself, to come away from the poisonous quest for power, and be his brother once more.  The brother he had fought with, the brother who had supported him, the brother he… had taken such advantage of that night.  If he had been able to touch him this way, then, he was unsure how the evening might have ended.  If there had not been a knock at the door…

“What are you planning?”

He looked up from his distraction by Loki’s bare skin to find his eyes focused on Thor with a sharp acuity.  “What?” was all his addled mind could conjure in reply.

“I said, what are you planning?  What is it that the mighty Thor intends to do with me, now that he has me at the mercy of his simple-minded whims?”  The bite in his voice was prominent, but Thor could tell, through the insults, that Loki was truly trying to figure out what he was in for.  His uncertainty was not equal to fear, but it was just as rarely shown on his face.

Thor could not take any credit for outsmarting the best strategist he had ever known, however.  With all of the feelings whirling around inside of him, he was not even sure what he planned, anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

He had shown his hand, he knew.  The madness he felt inside of him, that burned at his core, could easily remain covered under pain, under boredom, even curiosity.  He had no practice, however, covering it under the attack Thor had slung at him.  And how could he, when the onslaught of that rough touch, despite his despisal of the oaf’s personality, his character, his need to be a righteous knight for some misguided “greater good,” brought up such an arousal in his loins? 

Hatred would have been too strong a word.  He did not _hate_ Thor, but if he had ever truly held a love for him, he could no longer imagine the feel of it.  Too much had happened for that sentiment to survive inside of his heart.  Thor was an animal, driven by his baser needs and desires like a beast.  Loki had learned how not to heed those needs, to rise above them and seek a truer purpose than to simply live as those before him had lived.  He was born for more than that.  The Allfather had not recognized that, and Thor still could not see it. 

Laufey, perhaps, if only in his final moments, had caught a glimpse of all he could be, but his death had been necessary.  Father or not, he was a Jotun, and their extermination was to have been his way back into Odin’s graces, into Frigga’s heart, and onto the throne he rightfully deserved to call his own.  He was made to rule, to be revered, to remake the realm—perhaps even all nine of them—into what it had such potential to be: a strong, bright beacon to those it supported and a terrible, formidable foe to any who opposed.

There had been plans, strategy; he had had an army, after all.  Yet he had been undone by a bunch of fools who, by rights, should not have been able to work together at all.  And the creature… he had not been as mindless as it had at first appeared.  His strength was unparalleled in Loki’s experience; an unrivaled force.

Mere strength did not excite his body, however.  There would be no dimension of reality in which he would react with pleasure to a hulking mass of muscle and smashing fists.  Yet just one pair of forcefully pleasuring hands was beginning to undo him.  Could it be a specific attraction?  Could it be that the towheaded oaf actually aroused him? 

Either way, it seemed the prince of Asgard was likely to have his way with Loki’s body once again, and this time Hogun was not available to knock at the door.  Had he finished what he had started years ago, Thor’s actions would have provided Loki with his first sexual experience, albeit unwillingly.  Even then, however, he had not been ignorant to the workings of his own anatomy.  As with any boy, his body at times had its own ideas on how it would have liked to work.  Regardless of the timing of any “coming of age” ceremony, a young boy’s body decided for itself when it was ready to be termed a man’s.  Many nights prior to that had had him waking to a mess of tangled, sticky sheets after elusive dreams.  No, Thor had not awakened his body. 

Their encounter had, on the other hand, intrigued him regarding the power play between two people caught up in lust; or one person caught up and another in control.  Mastering his magic had had its advantages.  It had been long past his formative years before he gained fully strong skills with mind-control spells, but he had been practicing since early childhood.  He had been able to work small things over on unsuspecting, unwilling subjects, but those who submitted to his trials had helped him far more.  In that, he had frequently had Hogun’s cooperation. 

When not able to train or test his skills, the young warrior became quite easily bored and open to suggested entertainment.  A quieter personality by nature, he did not revel in the boisterous celebrations of past exploits the same way that Volstagg and Thor excelled in doing.  For the same reason, he was less inclined to pursue and court masses of females like Fandral.  Sif, perhaps, was most like them both, but she tended to see to her own entertainment or ride along with Thor’s.  There had been plenty of time for Loki and Hogun to create their own amusement activities. 

Their first encounter had not been planned.  Loki had been abysmally bored one afternoon, several months after his ceremony, during which Thor and company had taken to diving off of the large rocks just south of the palace and into the crystal water of the river below.  Diving and swimming were not something he hated, of course, but were not his first choice of activities, either, and so he had stayed in the palace to practice his magic. 

It had not been too long before the door to the friends’ meeting room had been noisily shoved open with a pained grunt echoing inside.  Having had his attentions focused on a rotating duplication of himself as he checked it over for flows, Loki had been startled enough to lose all concentration, prepared to berate whatever fool servant or guard had dared to interrupt his work.  Instead, he had whirled around, mouth already open with ready rebuke, and been stilled by the visage of Hogun, still mostly stripped bare for the swim, limping his way to the recessed seating area.  His right ankle was fairly covered in blood that could only be his own, and from the state of his depressingly-dangling foot, the bone was clearly also broken.

Looking back to the doorway as the other boy dropped heavily into a spot on the curved couch, Loki tilted his head.  “None of them came with you?” he sounded more accusative than he probably should have, but any decent person would accompany an injured fellow home to make certain he received proper aid.  His brother did tend to think of himself before others, but surely—

“Fandral put me on a horse,” the boy interrupted into Loki’s thoughts.  “I told them to stay.”  Groaning more at the effort than at the obvious pain, Hogun had lifted his leg and settled the wounded angle on top of the central table, dripping watery blood onto its smooth surface.

Walking over, Loki had leaned down to examine the impressive set of cuts along Hogun’s ankle.  “What happened,” he began, “my brother toss you off?”

A grunted half-chuckle had answered him.  “No,” Hogun elaborated, “I tried to jump too close to the boulder.”  Even at a young age, his voice was set more deeply and softly than the other boys.

Matching the angle of the gashes with the state of the foot, Loki had begun to recreate the event in his mind.  Visualizing the cause of an injury was not vital to the healing arts, but he had found it enabled him to more precisely reverse the damage if he did it in order of how it occurred, rather than worst-to-least.  In that case, careful observation had indicated that the bone had broken somewhere in the middle of the injury’s timeline, bookended by the rendering of his flesh.  Nodding to himself, plan of action set, he had sat on the edge of the table to see more properly, holding his hands above the ankle.  “This will hurt,” he had warned, voice held steady.

Hogun had grunted in reply, his posture unchanged.  Whereas some would adopt his style of handling pain with bravado and attention-seeking manner, Hogun simply weathered his experiences like an old tree; immovable, even in his youth.  He was no silent, however.  As Loki’s ministrations had progressed to the knitting of bone back together, Hogun’s breath had hissed its way into his lungs, expelled back out as a low growl.  There was no more painful recovery than that of bone; it had been known to have reduced even valiant, seasoned warriors to salty tears at its heat.  Yet as Loki had finished his mending, panting just slightly from expending so much careful concentration, he had looked up to see a pair of dry eyes staring back at him.

“Thank you, friend,” the gravelly voice had begun before Hogun cleared his throat.  “I knew if I came to you, there would be no problem.”

Loki had nodded in return to Hogun’s, appreciating and acknowledging the vote of complimentary confidence.  It was simply a fact, of course, but appearing overly self-assured was not always the best move.  Instead, he had sighed.  “I still think one of them should have seen you on your way.  Just to be cautious…”  Gathering a towel, he had wet it in a small pitcher and basin kept on hand and carefully cleaned the now woundless blood from Hogun’s leg and foot.  Picking up the limb to examine the result of his work, he could not have helped noticing its graceful lines, especially those leading in their arc towards the hem of the snug short pants serving as the other boy’s only clothing. 

“You think too much,” Hogun had teased, a common jesting accusation of Loki’s nature.  A small smile had played at the corner of his lips, widening slightly as Loki returned it amicably.  He was watching Loki closely, clearly observing him and taking stock of him, yet the reason at first had eluded him.

Then all at once he had recognized the scrutiny.

Quickly, but carefully, he had set the restored foot down to rest on the floor, shifting the towel to begin mopping up the bloodied water still ponded atop the table beside him.  Before he had taken even a couple of swipes along the mess, however, his hand had been covered by a bronzely tanned one. 

“I can do that.”  The words had been spoken quite close to Loki’s ear, enough that he could clearly hear the slight shudder in the speaking as the skin of their hands brushed together.  The breath that had followed the words hitched slightly in its owner’s throat, barely perceptible but unable to escape Loki’s acute hearing.

He had noted the difference in the two immediately.

Whereas the oafish thunder-wielder had pushed his way, forcing contact where it was not wanted simply because he desired it, the more laid-back warrior had paused and awaited reactions before making his move.  His wait had not been long, as Loki decided to satisfy his curiosity while the opportunity was available.

Without another word, Loki had leaned towards the couch, aligning his head with Hogun’s before tilting just enough, meeting his eyes with an even stare as he moved in to settle his lips over the other boy’s.  He had not crushed them together, there was no biting or cutting as he explored the sensation of his mouth sliding along Hogun’s.  Though he had remained still, it was a mere moment before Hogun had scooted closer to the edge of the cushion, leaning his head closer to Loki’s; the move had not been pressing for control, rather offering further access. 

Yes, he could enjoy that…


	7. Chapter 7

Even as he had almost automatically done so, he hated that he had compared that new feeling to the roughly stolen kiss of his brother’s.  Despite it having been his first, he was determined not to let it define all others, lest Thor win some sort of twisted form of power over him.  With Hogun, however, there had been no such concern.  Even possessing his own renown in the realm for advanced skill at such a young age, the boy had never carried his accomplishments on his shoulders like Thor.

The humility was convenient, workable.  His body was pleasing enough to the eye, but Loki did not desire Hogun.  In truth, he did not desire anyone.  The body itself, however, had its own set of needs independent of perceived desires, and only a fool would continually repress such needs.  And there was an appeal to one offering his body so willingly, submitting to his whims, that touched a need held much deeper than mere libido.  It was with that in mind that Loki had pressed the tip of his tongue to Hogun’s lips, sensing the slight hesitation but heeding only the eventual parting.  At first, he had not allowed a return of the motion, keeping enough of his mouth closed to bar the other’s tongue entry.  He had sensed him pulling back, however, and had then conceded mutual access.  Though he would have been loath to admit it then, the reciprocity had heightened his body’s reaction to the actions.

He could feel the rush of blood to his face, warming it even as a much larger rush headed steadily for his groin.  The soft sounds of the other boy shifting himself on the couch had indicated he was experiencing something similar.  He felt a hand reach up to curl its fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him further forward and holding him steady.  That would not do.  Disengaging his mouth accompanied by a quiet, wet sound, Loki had reached behind his head to gather the grasping fingers, bringing the hand back around toward its owner.

Hogun had tilted his head slightly, letting his hand be removed without fuss.  “Do you not want to be touched?” he had asked curiously, his tone indicating he was indirectly searching for what Loki _would_ like.

Even as Hogun had spoken, and almost without thinking, Loki had murmured the words to a spell designed to make opponents in battle open to suggestion.  Its immediate effect on Hogun, who was not an enemy, was that he had relaxed, eyes looking even more readily to Loki’s for instructions.  He had not used it in that manner before, but had been intrigued by the new possibilities it had opened.

“Sit back,” he had tested.

Without a word, Hogun had leaned his back against the cushion behind him, the motion smooth and without pause. 

Loki couldn’t have helped a smirk from spreading slowly across his face.  The spell allowed opponents to be more easily tricked, but apparently a willing mind gave him far more control.  After taking a moment to decide what the next move should be, he had ordered, “Kneel.”

The lack of hesitation as his order was fulfilled had sent a thrill through him, and he had been able to feel the fabric of his pants pulled taut as the excitement hardened him.  It had been a rush he had never felt before, to have so willing and obedient a subject to test his skills on.  And not only his magic…

With barely another thought, Loki had employed his new ability to reach physical relief via Hogun’s newly obedient mouth.  When finished, spell unwound, he had found the other boy had not remembered the actions he had taken while under its influence.  He had, however, reported to Loki that he felt relieved, calm, and fulfilled from the experience.  It had been enough of a stress-reliever that he had come to Loki regularly after that day, becoming his willing helper in his studies, and unknowingly his physical needs, as well.  Hogun had asked only once what about transpired during their sessions, and Loki had convinced him that it was vital to his work that its integrity be upheld in secrecy.  There were no obvious negative effects on their environment, and so there had been little cause for any disbelief on his part. 

The ruse was simpler for Loki.  It avoided the potentially awkward social interactions within a group when two have started another connection.  It had also neatly avoided any more complicated attachments Hogun might have developed along the way.  A devoted friend was an asset, but Loki had not been certain he desired a second level of attachment or the drama it often wrought.  Not with a friend, and not with a brother, even a farce of a sibling like his own…

…

Yet the look in Thor’s eyes had been more than simple lust when he had touched him, kissed him.  Oh, lust had been there, it had burned brightly and clearly.  But there had been more.  The hunger had joined it there, visible in the way his mouth stayed open while he breathed in pants, the flick of his tongue along the inner rim of his lips.  Fingers had twitched as they held his waist steady, thumb pads sliding along the skin just beneath his pants’ hem.

But he had stopped himself, then.  He had let go, the fire burning off his face as it had been replaced by if not guilt then restraint, concern.  His search for food had lasted longer than Loki imagined the simple errand should have, even for one as distractible as Thor.  No, Loki was certain that the oaf had used his time away from the cell to calm himself, to cool the erratic heat of arousal that had been so clear on his body.  His sense of duty, perhaps even of propriety, had stilled his wandering hands—the calm lent by whatever emotion lay beneath the animal lust.

Looking into those blue eyes, now, as their owner once again held him fast by the middle, Loki could not see that same affection mediating the lust and desire that had been rekindled within them.  Lips parted, nostrils flared, Thor once again looked hungrily over Loki’s body as if he simply could not contain himself any longer.  Whereas Loki had conquered the instinctual pull of his libido, channeled its energy into fuel for his magic, having perfected the method through numerous sessions with Hogun in the past, Thor was far too impatient and impetuous to have thought of doing the same, let alone attempting it.  Clearly.  He couldn’t even answer Loki on what he planned to do next, or form any other words in reply.

Instead, his hands stroked firmly along Loki’s sides, his waist, one reaching to run down the smooth skin of his chest as it rose and fell in relative calm under the touch.  Thor’s rose and fell more heavily the more he touched and looked.  Loki could hear the hitch in his breathing, see the beginnings of the wild look that often overtook his eyes at the onset of a battle.  His voice emanated from deep in his throat, gravelly and heavy when he spoke.

“It isn’t going to be simple, is it, brother?”  Thor paused to swallow noisily between his panted breaths.  “I do want you better,” he added, though by the low tone he used, Loki suspected the statement was intended more for his own benefit than Loki’s. 

“Oh, I am better, brother,” he could not help baiting.  “I am better, now, than I ever was…”

“Loki…”

A sneer of a smirk pulled at his lips.  “I am strong, quicker, and freer than ever before under the burden of seeking out the Allfather’s approval.”  He licked his lips to wet their dry surface, continuing, “You are the one looking ill.”

A less-than-articulate growl emanated from Thor’s throat, eyes darkening at the implication and taunt.  “I will not be guided by your hand, brother.”

“Oh, no,” he let the word draw out in patronizing sarcasm, brows knitting together slightly in mock sincerity.  “Your hands are guiding yourself well enough, don’t you think?”

Thor’s eyes narrowed as he worked out the meaning of the accusation.

“My hands, however,” Loki couldn’t help the smirk’s return from creeping into his voice, “are free of this…”  Even faster than the last time, having already worked through the motions once before, Loki loosed one hand from the shackles that held him suspended.  With a dramatic flourish, he brought the freed appendage down through the air beside his head, looking at it as if it had been remade.  “Free, indeed…” 

Keeping his eyes on his hand made Thor’s anger no less visible.  In half a moment he was snapped out of the remaining shackle, hauled into the air, and dropped over the considerable bulk of the oaf’s shoulder. It was brief, as he was tossed none-too-gently to the ground almost immediately, but Loki had not missed the way Thor’s large hand had almost automatically spread across his bottom to hold him steady in the transition.  He started to get back up once his breath found him again, but a sickeningly familiar metallic ringing assaulted his ears.

Mjölnir.

The ridiculous hammer flew into Thor’s waiting hand as he called it to himself from where it had been set near the door.  Without a word, Thor stepped forward and pushed Loki’s shoulders back to the floor, placing the hammer upon his chest as he once had before.  The weight was unbearable.  It would not crush him, nor sink into his body, but it was completely immovable, effectively pinning him bodily to the spot.  Had he had time, he would have traded his real body for an illusion, but for once the larger man had moved too quickly. 

He stood over Loki, hair framing his face and shifting from his heavy breathing. 

*             *             *

Too close. 

He had come too close to losing restraint with Loki again.  Not only that, he had nearly lost even more control than had left him while on the floor, even after trying to gain it back in between.  He had to stop it.

Even as he had pinned his brother’s body with Mjölnir, his hands had twitched and shaken with the rush he felt coursing through his body.  Loki’s hands had reached up to grasp the hammer’s head, even knowing that all of his strength could not possibly lift its weight.  Thor’s might made wielding the weapon easier, but it would only obey the call of one worthy of its great power, regardless of physical strength. 

_If he be worthy…_

Thor was certain he had never heard the words spoken by his father, but nevertheless they had come to his ears in Odin’s voice, almost as if from the hammer itself.  Startled, he had taken a step back, and then another, nearly stumbling over his own booted feet in the process.  The fire within him had not cooled, in fact it raged on searingly bright, but Thor had just enough presence of mind with his entrancement briefly broken to quickly leave the holding room. 

Clear of the door as it sealed, Thor gulped in the air of the hall, somehow seeming less thick to his aching lungs.  Looking down, he could see just how much control he had lost, even as he felt the pulsing rush of blood to his groin.  That particular problem was not going to go away with calm breathing. 

Leaning heavily against the wall behind him, Thor reached his hand down to shove aside the molded rim of his chest armor, tugging at the strap supporting his pants.  The buckle held stubbornly, and in his haste he ripped the leather strap completely clear of its stitching.  He stared down at the freed strap for only a moment before tossing it aside and parting the fabric at his waist to allow a hand inside.  Impatience won out again as he fumbled the buttons of his under-tunic, finally tearing it at its seams instead.  He sighed in relief as his fingers closed around the swollen organ already standing at ready attention and leaning against his belly. 

It had been days, of course, perhaps even weeks, he wasn’t quite sure, since he had had any release.  During a fight, he was focused; his body remained tense and ran on reserves of strength while ignoring processes and needs unrelated to the efforts of combat.  Though he often enjoyed a good bedding following battle, he knew the people of Earth were not all like him in such customs.  He would have gladly shared the victory bed of the Spider or perhaps the Soldier, but it had not been meant to be.  He had had Loki to worry over, as well, after all.

Loki…

Thor felt his hardened member twitch at the thought of his brother.  Unbidden, more thoughts followed; Loki bared to the waist, chained, under his control and his for the taking… He groaned, gripping himself more tightly.  It was almost too much as he recalled the feeling of cool, smooth skin beneath his fingers.  His free hand shot to the side, grasping the rough-textured bricks along the wall, anything not to feel only the memory of that overwhelming smoothness.  The surface of the wall bit further into his skin the harder he gripped, and the combination of pain mixed with the pleasure of his firm, quickened pumps at his member had him ready to shoot off in moments, slowed only as he paused to catch his breath which had nearly failed him.

Still breathing in uneven, ragged pants, he closed his eyes, hips rocking forward out from the wall to match his hand’s movements.  In only a few short moments, he gasped as he felt the stilted stream surge out from between his fingers’ grip.  Roughly, he jerked his hand from base to tip, shuddering as he coaxed more of his seed from his body.  What hadn’t flown through the air to land on the floor dribbled down his hand as he stroked himself less harshly, more slowly, letting the rest of his pleasure ripple through his body.

He released the wall when the shudders finished, raking his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair as he let his head rest back against the bricks.  The firmness had not left him despite the release, and as he rubbed the edge of his thumb along the sensitive rim of the head of his shaft, he felt his body shudder again with renewed interest. 


	8. Chapter 8

The weight was wearing on him even a few minutes after being left.  If he didn’t struggle, it was less oppressive, but he refused to lie still any longer.  The indignity of being pinned under the infernal hammer that refused to acknowledge his command was infuriating.  Again, he closed his eyes to concentrate on thinking of a way to use his magic to overpower the dull tool as he squirmed beneath it.

So far, nothing had worked.  He was unable to transport his body or levitate the hammer.  He had even tried impersonating Thor through illusion, a desperate attempt, he admitted; it did not matter what he did, nothing worked.  Mjölnir obediently remained where it had been set until called by its master.

Then suddenly, it was.  The unexpected absence of pressure had Loki’s torso lifted halfway off the floor in his effort to counter the imprisonment.  Following the resounding hum, he watched the cursed hammer fly itself swiftly back to its master’s hand as Thor appeared in the doorway; he must have called for it even before he had fully stepped inside.  Loki sneered, climbing to his feet and summoning all of the righteous indignation he felt raging inside of him. 

Thor stood still a moment, looking over the weapon as if questioning it.  He still looked out of breath despite having left, and it only took a moment for Loki to notice the disarray of his clothing, the clearly visible tears below his waist.  He doubted Thor realized he also had a number of small white spots staining his pant legs.  Despite his anger, Loki found he could only laugh at the sight.  “Oh, brother…”

Yet he was cut off, any words that would have followed were swallowed up by the rush of air leaving his lungs all at once, the concussion sending him harshly into the cell’s wall behind where he had stood.  The hammer slammed into the floor before him, and then was recalled with its sickening ring.  Struggling for breath, having not expected the blow and therefore not prepared for it, Loki pushed himself up to stand, bracing a hand against the wall for balance. 

“Good,” he choked out.  He had just made it to his feet when he was slammed backwards again, this time pinned to the wall by the hammer’s push, feet unable to touch the ground.  Breathlessly, he laughed again, knowing full well how mocking it sounded.  The less in control he could push Thor to be, the more likely it was that he would make a mistake, leave himself open to attack, or better yet, allow Loki an avenue of escape. 

As expected, Thor retracted the hammer, dropping Loki rather unceremoniously to the floor.  He continued to laugh as he worked his legs to stand again, aware of the edge to his voice, of how it came automatically, unwilled. 

“Your rage suits you well, Odinson,” he sneered through his laughter.  “I must say I prefer it to the self-righteous calm you feign.”

Instead of throwing the hammer again, Thor crossed the space between them with heavy, booted steps.  Mjölnir was set down with its typical resounding clunk, and the hand that had held it reached for Loki’s throat, grasping it firmly and lifting him several inches above the floor, his eyes just above Thor’s.

“I do not wish to muzzle you again, brother, but I will if your tongue continues to misbehave,” he warned, eyes flashing to the tongue in question as Loki pointedly flicked it across his lips.

*             *             *

He was being taunted; somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that.  But as he moved closer to press his chest armor against the pale skin before it, inhaling the battle-built musky scent of him, it was the farthest thing from his thoughts.  He could feel the quickened pulse through the jugular beneath his fingers, but now it did not beat against his own, did not remind him of their shared connections.  Instead, it enticed him, called out to him, bidding his own to accelerate as his breathing had.  So it did, filling him with its beat and thrum, to his very core.  It seemed to take on a life of its own.

_“I’m asking what you are PREPARED to do.”_

The words of SHIELD’s director Fury echoed in his memory, beating along with his pulse.  Anything to purge his brother of this poison.  He was prepared to do anything. 

Pain alone had not worked.  Dr. Banner’s strength had broken some of him, but it had not humbled him, not truly.  He needed something else; something stronger, something more intimate.  Thor could not help thinking of the hardness below his waist that had not yet abated.  Perhaps he could solve two problems at once.

*             *             *

One hand held him fast by the neck, his body pressed tightly back against the wall by the armor-plated chest; another hand began to find its way down his stomach, past the hem of his pants, fingers curling below.  The hand cupped firmly between his thighs, grasping at the shape it sought, and curling further around it once discovered. 

As much control as Loki had over the needs of his own libido, his body reacted on its own to the unwanted touch.  He could feel his member stiffening in Thor’s grasp, and could not stifle the shudder of loss when it was released.  The feelings were revolting.  He growled as the offending hand grasped the material at his waist, roughly yanking downwards at each side until the pants pooled around his ankles.  From there, a booted foot kicked them free.  And suddenly he was completely bare in front of Thor, whose body still stood flush with his.  He wasn’t in the mood for that.

Baring his teeth, he reached both hands up to wrap around the skin beyond Thor’s gauntlet on the arm that held him.  As he had practiced before his fall, he called the cold he could always faintly feel back to his body.  Pale skin flushed steel blue, his familial markings tracing their whirls and lines along his face, chest, and the rest of his body.  Eyes flashing red at Thor, he allowed the chill to spread out from his fingertips, infecting the tanned flesh he tightly gripped.  Though his gaze remained on Thor’s face, he could see in his peripheral vision the blue start to claim the skin of his arm, could hear the crackle as it formed ice.  The cold burned deeply, biting into the muscle below his flesh, a crystalline powder of frost blanketing the spot.

His lips peeled back in a rather wicked grin, full of his malice as Thor cried out in pain. 

The hiss that followed pleased him as well, even as he was dropped to the floor in favor of Thor cradling his wound.  Still grinning, the laughter was thrust from his throat as instead of nursing the first burn, Thor quickly grabbed up Loki’s wrists, wrenching his arms behind his back as he pressed him painfully into the wall.  The impact caused small stress fractures that radiated out from him along the bricks.

Concentration broken, the Jotun blue began to fade from his skin, like a thawing, the whirls and spots fading last at his chest, as if it were being sucked out by the wall.  It was just as well; he hated his Jotun blood as much as he despised Odin.  What good was it to claim a heritage that only served you ill?

Thor did not even bother with metal restraints this time.  Just one of his large hands was enough to cinch around Loki’s much more slender wrists, squeezing them roughly together, his hands wedged against one another.  One good pull in that position would wrench his shoulders out of joint, he knew.  It did not keep him from struggling, however he was pushed harder against the wall for his effort, his cheek squished enough to drive its inner flesh onto his teeth.  He could taste the metallic flavor of blood again, already.  He was just about to comment on that fact when he felt the invasive presence of a pair of fingers slipping swiftly down between the swells of his bottom.

*             *             *

 

He hadn’t intended to be quite so rough, but he knew Loki’s body could take as much and more than he was prepared to unleash upon it—while injured internally and having required his own healing methods, he had not even been that damaged after their recent battle.  Thor’s side was still taking longer to fully heal than it had taken Loki to stand and bend without stiffness in his motion. 

As he stroked his fingertips over the center of his brother’s bottom, he was surprised to find even that central part of him was less heated than another man’s might have been.  Thor was not a stranger to entering men for pleasure; during his youth, he had found both males and females to be satisfying bed partners.  It had, however, been a number of years since the last time he had sunk himself into the snug grip that opening provided.  Just a quick feel over the tight bud in front of his hand told him just how tightly his brother’s body was capable of holding him inside. 

Just the thought sent a shudder through him, and he leaned his forehead against the back of Loki’s shoulders, taking a breath to try to calm himself.  It didn’t actually work as he’d planned.  He tried to remind himself that this was about Loki, about waking him out of his delusions’ hold, but it was hard to hold that thought when he was straining the torn fabric of his under-tunic.  Stepping forward to press closer behind him, he allowed his hips to grind firmly against his brother’s bottom, unable to help the low groan escaping his throat at the feel of pressure on his cock.

Easing a finger past the ring of muscle, Thor felt Loki startle and heard his sharp intake of breath.  _Of cours_ e, he reminded himself, it had to be slippery or it hurt worse, could even damage.  Glancing beside him, he looked over the food he had brought, but nothing seemed really suitable.

“Rape does not become you, _brother_ ,” he heard the sneer in Loki’s voice, but at the same time felt the tremble in his body.  At the very least, he was making him nervous.

“Murder does not become _you_ ,” was all he allowed himself to be drawn into replying.  It would be too easy to get distracted by his taunts, and he knew Loki was aware of that, as well.  It was one of his greatest talents.

With nothing else to help him, he brought his hand up to his mouth, spitting into it to wet his fingers before sending them back down to rub at the hole even as it clenched closed tightly.  Of course Loki would not make it easy for him; however, Thor knew that the action would only make it harder on Loki, more painful.  Slick this time, his fingertips slid inside with just a little more pressure, surrounded suddenly by the heat that was squeezing around them so completely.  Just imagining what he was about to feel around his shaft made him groan again as he rocked his hand to ease his fingers in and out along the rim. 

He could hear Loki’s breath beginning a panted rhythm as he tried to remain calm and quiet against the wall.  His muscles tensed in waves timed along with his breathing.  Thinking through his strategy, Thor more roughly thrust his fingers further into his brother, instantly earning a sharp hiss and a wince from him.  His immediate reaction to the sound and sight was one of sympathy, his thoughts going quickly to ways to ease the sudden pain he saw.  In that moment, he knew he was not capable of carrying out the plan he had devised, the pain he had deemed necessary.  There would have to be another way.

As it was, however, he still needed release, and Loki’s body was responding to his touch even if his mind would refuse to acknowledge it.  Less roughly, he shifted his fingers, still embedded in the tight space, curled their tips to rub instead of stab in motion, and was rewarded with a shudder rippling against him and a clearly startled intake of breath.  It was followed by a growl aimed over the shoulder at him.  Apparently, pleasure at Thor’s hand upset Loki more than simple pain.  He considered that a moment before continuing to more gently rock his hand, releasing his brother’s wrists since he was pinned and letting that hand to find its way below the other, slip between the bare legs, and stretch through towards the wall.

His brother was already hardened.  Perhaps that had been the source of his growl.  Pushing out of his mind all notions of hesitancy, reminding himself once again that this was for Loki’s sake and not _only_ for his own pleasure, Thor slipped the fingers of his exploring hand around the more than half-hard shaft of his brother’s cock.

His body instantly came alive against the wall, bucking and straining to get out of Thor’s hold.  Unfortunately for Loki, he was far Thor’s lesser in strength.  It was hardly a trouble to keep him pinned while working his hands, leaning heavily into him as the motions fed into his own rising excitement.  His own breath came in accelerated pants as his hips rocked at Loki’s bottom, gaining friction from his wrist, as well.  But it wasn’t quite enough.

Releasing the hard-on he had coaxed almost fully to stand, Thor guided his own cock out of his pants, wetting it with spit as he had his fingers.  Easing them out, he was encouraged to hear a faltering in Loki’s breathing, a sign of possible disappointment at the sudden lack of pressure—on a physical level, at least.

He allowed himself a breathy chuckle.  “Do not worry, brother… You will have something better, soon.”

Loki stilled at that, for only a moment, but the moment was enough for it to be noticeable as Thor stroked more spit onto himself before nudging the head of his shaft up against Loki’s entrance.  A groan rumbled in his throat as he guided himself to press forward firmly, hearing his brother gasp as at last the head burst inside fully, stretching him to accommodate the girth of it. 

“By Odin…” Thor swore, the words merely falling from his lips like a prayer.

Pushing against the wall with his hands now freed, Loki growled back at him.  “You swear by Odin _NOW?_ ”  He ground his teeth as he attempted to push Thor off of him, succeeding only in driving his cock more deeply into him, causing Loki to cry out in surprise.

Thor moaned loudly at the unexpected sensation of slipping farther into the all-encompassing pressure.  He could feel every centimeter of flesh against flesh, every subtle muscle movement as his brother squirmed for freedom.  However, the dry skin further down his shaft was beginning to catch against Loki’s, and he knew any movement further in would soon bring them both discomfort, and inevitable pain for Loki; a pain that Thor no longer wished to cause him.  He would have to find something to keep their meeting slicker longer if he wanted to continue, and he did.


	9. Chapter 9

Loki couldn’t help being startled by the sudden intrusion into him.  He had expected to be molested in some way, he had been before; he had not thought that Thor would actually try to enter him.  It was not something he had ever done or seen the need to do, yet his body betrayed him even as his hatred for Thor grew stronger with each touch.  He could feel the swelling in his groin, and there were tremors shooting through the rest of his body at being handled.  In the past, with Hogun, he had never allowed himself to be touched anywhere but what was being serviced, and that had certainly never included his ass.

He could feel every bit of the invasive fingers, and felt the burning sensation as his hole was stretched to accommodate them.  He could admit that the feeling was not wholly unpleasant, at least until the oaf jabbed his hand forward, giving him a sense of being rent open, and he couldn’t stifle the hiss of air leaving his lungs.  More reprehensible was the hitch in his throat when the hand pulled away.  He cursed himself silently for showing such weakness, and then in turn cursed Thor as he felt him press the tip of his shaft against him.  Accidentally impaling himself was worse, yet.

“I doubt your precious Allfather would approve of or help you now, Odinson,” he seethed in response to Thor’s swear, shuddering as he felt the pressure leaving him suddenly.  Thor’s body moved away from his back, his cock following suit.  Turning cautiously, he found that Thor was no longer directly behind him at all, but had stepped to the side to examine the tray of food he had brought into the cell.  His appetite truly knew no bounds…  Narrowing his eyes, he watched as Thor picked through the items on the tray, seeming to be looking for something in particular, though he couldn’t imagine what that could be.

He eyed the door, even knowing that he had yet to work through the magic that held him captive by Thor’s word.  Edging away from the wall, he carefully stepped past Thor’s back as he knelt, ignoring the soreness that walking already created and leaning down to reach for his pants on the floor where Thor had kicked them after stripping them off.  He straightened back up almost immediately, however, as he was aware of Thor rising to his feet behind him, the rustle of his clothing giving away his position.  Another rustle followed, as well as snaps and the clunk of armor hitting the stone floor.  So he had stripped… how quaint.

“Do you really think I—” he was cut off abruptly as he found himself face down on the floor, the weight of a heavily-muscled body pressing down on him even as he struggled.

“This will happen, brother,” Thor argued.  “We both need it to, right now.”

*             *             *

He knew Loki wouldn’t see it his way, but he had to try.  Gathering some of the butter he had chosen as a lubricant, Thor held his brother down firmly as he reached one hand back toward his bottom.  He had to use his own legs to force Loki’s apart enough to allow him to reach the hole he sought, and he still struggled beneath him.  Forcing a hand between the spread thighs, Thor worked a greased finger at Loki’s entrance, coating the outside thoroughly before he dipped his fingertip inside.  It went in remarkably more smoothly this time.  Pleased with his plan, he went ahead and eased a second finger in alongside the first, rubbing the pads of their tips along the slicked passageway, sliding them further inside. 

Loki tensed and shuddered beneath his weight, trying in vain to gain leverage against the floor to hoist himself up and off of it.  His legs fought against Thor’s, but he was no match for the powerful thighs that held him open.  Thor used his own downward angle to help shift his hand deeper, to twist his wrist and angle his fingers so that they rubbed along the wall inside, knowing from experience that there was a tight bundle of nerves to be sought out and stimulated.  If he could just reach Loki’s…

Thor felt his brother’s body buck beneath him, bottom rising up against the palm of his hand, and he had to smile.  “I found it, didn’t I, brother…” he could not keep the pride from his voice.  Loki was too busy trying to re-catch the breath that had failed him to answer.  Thor knew how it felt; how the pleasure of it shot through the body like the lightning he commanded, how a bolt of it shot straight through the shaft of his cock.  He had had the fortune of at one time having a bed partner who was knowledgeable of the prostate and rather adept at working it over in all of the most overwhelming ways.  Even he, Thor, god of thunder, had been a puddle of shivering sensation after just one go that focused on his spot.  It was a very pleasant memory.

Breath regained, Loki let out a strained growl in late reply.  He could tell that it was forced, that the feeling was getting to him.  Thor continued to stroke and rub at the spot he had found until he felt his brother’s hips shift in an involuntary grind downwards at the floor.

“Th-thor…” he tried to sound menacing, Thor was sure, but it only sounded desperate as he was entered by a third finger of Thor’s and gently stretched open in a scissoring motion.

“Shh, brother.”  Thor stretched him further, enjoying the more guttural grunt he earned for it.  Shifting his weight again, he let out a grunt of his own as his erection ground against the back of Loki’s upper thigh.  “Mm,” he breathed, allowing himself a few rocks of his hips to feel the friction a moment longer before he eased his weight off of his brother just long enough to carefully flip his body over so that his back was against the floor instead of his stomach.  This regrettably required pulling his fingers out of the heated, welcoming bottom, but he knew he had a much better feeling in store for both of them.

Pressing his dry hand to Loki’s chest to keep him pinned even as his arm was grabbed and pushed at, Thor reached to the side where he had set the small container of butter, and gathered enough for himself.  It was second nature to wrap his slicked hand around his cock, sliding along the length of it, spreading the grease over his heated skin to the base, making sure there would be no dry skin catching against his brother’s this time.  Slipping back up, he thumbed a liberal amount of the butter onto the head, knowing that getting the wider tip through was often the most trouble.

Loki was glaring at him; panting, chest heaving under his steady hold, but glaring no less hotly for it.

Guiding the tip with his hold, Thor pressed his cock up against Loki’s entrance, feeling it sliding along the slicked-up space.  He locked his eyes with the green ones under him, pressing his shaft into the snug opening of his brother’s ass.  The grease had him halfway in almost before he knew it, and still squeezed so tightly as his brother’s body tensed at the intrusion.  It was glorious.  In moments, he was all the way in, buried deeply inside of Loki.  The feel of him combined with the knowledge of where he was shook a groan from his lips.

Breath already returning to a panted rhythm, he lifted his torso enough to slide his hands back along Loki’s smooth thighs, catching at his knees, and swiftly bending his legs so that they hooked in front of him.  He reveled in how much deeper he slide inside.  However, Loki’s torso was free, and while not a true problem, it did allow him to fight much more.  Forcing himself to focus on that problem and not on Loki’s pushing at him with hands and feet or the intensity of sensations playing at his cock, Thor looked around for ideas.  He spotted Mjölnir after only a moment.  With a smirk, Thor held out his hand, open to receive it as he called the hammer to him.  It sang out its signature ring as it lifted itself and flew straight and true to Thor who caught it tightly with a practiced ease and accuracy, wasting not even a moment before resting its immense weight down on Loki’s chest once again. 

For a brief moment, Thor spotted betrayal swimming in his brother’s eyes, his hands retracting from shoving at Thor in order to attempt, futily, to lessen the pressure holding him fast.  The look was quickly replaced by a flash of anger, however, and Thor was surprised as Loki spit firmly into his face.  Instead of letting him gain the victory of his ire, however, Thor laughed, lifting a hand to wipe the spittle from his cheek and chin, feeling a devious smirk spread over his face as he let the hand fall to wipe the wetness over his brother’s cock. 

*             *             *

It was revolting; disgusting.  It had been bad enough that the oaf had put his own spit on his own skin, let alone putting Loki’s spit on his skin.  That had not been his plan.  Still, he was beginning to feel desperation creep in, unable yet to resign himself to what he could not stop from happening.  He could not let himself think about what he was feeling, about the involuntary waves of unwanted pleasure that were rolling over his entire body.  He was stronger than they, than the base sentiments and desires; he had already conquered them many times over, so how could the simpleton be undoing him through them?

He didn’t have to look down to know how hard he was, how his cock was standing flush against his belly even as he was lying down with his back against the floor.  His breathing wouldn’t settle no matter what he tried, even before the stupid hammer had been pinned on his chest.  And his bottom… he was stretched beyond what he would have thought possible.  It hurt, certainly, but there was a gratification in the burn of it that he would not have expected.  Pain, of course, had its advantages, sharpening the mind, affirming reality, hardening resolves, but never had pain hardened his cock as it was right then.  Each action Thor took, the stretching, the bending of his legs, the hammer, the nails that were beginning to sink into his thighs as Thor’s hips began to move back and forth in rhythm with his grunts; all were causing him pleasure.

Though he tried, he found he could not focus once the other man began thrusting himself harder into him, using his weight as leverage to drive him in more deeply with each thrust.  Grasping the sides of the hammer, he tried to get a grip on his breathing, failing as he felt a deep-seated groan emerge from low in his belly.  He wouldn’t care as much if it didn’t cause a smile to split the oaf’s face whenever he made any sound at all.

He lost all control when Thor bent his legs fully back to nearly rest on his own shoulders, folding him in half as he slowed his motion, instead making an effort to drive the head of his shaft directly into the overwhelming spot inside of him.  Every push now sent tendrils of electricity through his entire body, most especially right up through the shaft of his cock, causing it to twitch horribly against his stomach.  His eyes closed involuntarily, though the room’s illusion might as well have returned inside his mind because all he could see was stars, stars and sharp-shooting bolts of lightning.  Thor’s groans thundered above him, adding to the stormy environment raging through his head.  He couldn’t think about the hammer, the cell, or the way the floor was scraping against his back with every thrust Thor made into his ass.  He couldn’t even focus on the pain at being bent so tightly, stretched so far.  All he could think about was the overwhelming sensations powering through his mind.  There was only the filling, the grinding, the terrible friction as Thor pulled back again, and the brief but abysmal emptiness before he was plunged back into and the cycle started itself all over again. 

Once again, he lost all sense of time, floating on an endless sea as he was rocked and held firmly.  Suddenly, he was falling as before, surrounded only by stars, the expanse of the universe his only company in sight, no purchase to gain, nothing to slow or speed his unstoppable descent. 

The emptiness had been the hardest part of his fall.  All he had built up in his mind had collapsed—his father’s approval and pride, victory over Thor, the acclaim of his Realm as properly deserved—not one stone was left standing.  Letting go of the spear had been his only option, but it had not lessened the pain that burned through him.  In that moment, in the time before he had finally landed, he was but an empty thing, voided; despair had given way to a fear of never being whole again, never feeling as alive as he had felt on his throne.  The loss had been crushing, the space suffocating.  He had screamed out his torment, screamed until his throat had gone hoarse from the violence of it, yet never heard a sound of it upon his ears. 

His cries had only painfully renewed as his body passed through the remaining burst of energy that had been shot from the bifrost.  The heat of it engulfed him, searing over his body, tearing at his mind as he was at once blinded in the sudden light after what had felt like an eternity of darkness when Asgard’s bright jewel had left his sight.  He had no voice left, even if he had been able to hear it. 

Yet he now found himself screaming once again, the terror filling him inescapably.  This time, however, he could hear his own voice.

And at once he heard Thor’s, concern filling it, and he was being shaken. A weight lifted off of him.  The stars began to recede… And he was not falling, but lying on the floor, still filled by his ‘brother,’ but no longer bent in half so sharply, and no longer pressed down by the hammer.  The fuzzy face swam slightly in his vision, the voice echoing strangely until both finally began to clear.

“Loki?... Brother, stop…” He could hear the firm command in it, but also the worry.

He felt his cheek cradled in large hands, his legs let go of to rest on either side of Thor’s waist as he knelt over him.  “I was…” he swallowed to wet his aching throat.  “I was falling…”

The face above him softened its expression, thumbs were stroking his cheeks.  “No, brother; you are here, with me.”  The eyes then hardened with resolve.  “You are safe.”

*             *             *

“You are safe,” he repeated, his voice softer, not far above a whisper as he rested his forehead against his brother’s, feeling him tremble through the fright he had given himself.  It had not been the scream that had stilled Thor’s hips, but the look in Loki’s eyes as whatever horrors were a part of his mind revisited him.   It was painful to look upon.  Still holding his face gently in his hands, Thor let his thumbs glide soothingly over Loki’s cheeks, feeling a single line of wetness on one side, pulling back to confirm it was a tear as he wiped it silently away. 

His brother turned his face from him then, eyes cast to the side, clearly berating himself for the weakness he would consider it to be.  There was a haunted look to him, now… it had been mere moments that his eyes had been closed before he had begun to scream, but Thor guessed that those short moments had been filled with enough emotional torment to overwhelm him.  He could never know exactly what it had been like for him in the year following his apparent death, but with how different his brother was when he found him aboard the SHIELD flying machine, he knew it had to have been traumatic. 

He had only ever flown between Realms via the bifrost, and though exhilarating, it was safe, secure, and direct.  He had no knowledge or idea of how falling through space must feel.  Nor could he envision landing among a wholly alien race in a place unknown to the map that was the branches of Yggdrasil.  Asgard had not heard of Loki’s connection with the Chitauri until shortly before he arrived on Earth, and their entire existence still remained much a mystery despite Thor having battled their soldiers.

Thor deliberated a moment or two before speaking. “Pain is nothing to feel shame over, brother.”

It seemed to be the wrong thing, however, as Loki’s face hardened and he looked Thor up and down, judgment set in his mouth.  “And what,” he asked, “do you know of pain, Odinson?  Prized prince, favored heir… your privilege has made you soft no matter how you rage.”

“You think I have never been in pain?” he could not help a look of incredulity.

“Yes; you were cast out for being foolish… I saw you there, or do you not remember?”  Loki’s voice carried an edge, and Thor could tell that he was trying to sound more held-together than he was, as if nothing had just caused him to crack and crumble in Thor’s hold.

Thor nodded.  “I remember, brother.”  He remembered how he had been lied to, led to believe that his father had died of a broken heart because of his foolish actions, that his mother had not wanted him to come home, that his very presence back at home would have caused a war.  He remembered that visit very well.  “Do you intend to tell me that my pain is insignificant in comparison with your own?”  Leaning up away from him to give some space between them, he propped his torso up with his hands braced against the floor.  “Do you believe you did not hurt me, then?”

He watched a frightening light fill Loki’s eyes for a moment.  “No,” he replied simply.

“Then you know I have felt pain.  Why not let me help with yours?”  He moved one hand up from its place on the floor to gently cup his brother’s cheek and jaw, which lifted slightly as he tilted his head away from the touch, trying to appear unaffected, ambivalent to the emotions that so obviously waged war inside of him.  Thor realized with a sense of dread that it was not only Loki’s mind that was caught in a web of confusion and darkness, but also his soul.  He could not allow him to return to the cold distance he had held.

Releasing the cheek with a final loving stroke, Thor reached down to slip his fingers around his brother’s cock once more, holding him up and giving him a light squeeze to regain his attention.  He could already see the hardness spreading further across his brother’s features, and he was certain that the madness would follow it.  He had to keep him here, with him, before he slipped back down.  “I forgive you, brother.”

Loki paused, even as his body shifted from the attention of Thor’s hand.  “What?” he asked, face full of suspicion.

“I forgive you,” Thor repeated, leaning down closer again, hand still stroking around and up Loki’s shaft.  “I do not hold your actions nor any pain you’ve caused against you.”  It was true; he was not angry or filled with hatred for his brother, rather with hurt that he had fallen so far from the brother he knew, who had been raised alongside him. 

Loki pulled in a sharp gasp as Thor rocked his hips back before sliding himself forward again; Thor was grateful that the butter lasted longer than saliva alone.  “And why is that,” Loki breathed, “your precious sentiment clouding proper judgment again?”  Gritting his teeth, Loki shifted his legs to brace his feet against the floor, only succeeding, however, in allowing Thor to rock himself in deeper.

“No,” he argued, timing the motion of his hips with his hand so that Loki was being rocked into and stroked in rhythm.  “It is the proper—uhnn—judgment, brother…”  He stopped trying to talk then, focusing instead on angling himself as he had before, using his free hand to work Loki’s legs up one at a time so that they bent enough. 

Arguments ceased from Loki’s side, as well, taken over by gasps each time Thor thrust his cock deeply enough and aimed well enough to rub its head against his prostate.  He shuddered each time Thor thumbed over the end of his cock, shifting the sensitive skin around the slit of it.  Watching the reactions and feeling the heat and grip of him, Thor found himself overpowered quickly, breath ragged as his hips sped up of their own desperate accord.  Regardless of how close to release Loki’s was, Thor’s body powered on, taking over from his mind and working to reach its pleasure. 

It wasn’t long before he felt his muscles tense, felt the ache that preceded his release.

*             *             *

He could feel him inside, each dragging retreat, every quickened plunge.  Even he could recognize the signs that the other man was close to finishing, but he could only pay so much attention to the body above him when his own was taking so much of his senses.  He could feel his hips twitch without his permission, feel the building tightness in his groin as Thor pumped his meaty fist almost harshly over him.  Thor did not even seem to mind when Loki grasped his nails into the vein-riddled biceps, clutching needily, shudders shaking his shoulders.

He was not in charge of his own body, and he could not pay enough attention to care.

His body shook and shuddered, muscles tensing and releasing in a maddening cycle.  He could feel it, then… He was on the verge of release, and there was no stopping it.  In seconds, he found himself letting out a yell, head tilted back against the floor as the spasm rippled through his torso, his cock shooting out of Thor’s hand to decorate his belly and Thor’s chest with its white stream.

Thor groaned above him at the sight, slamming himself deeply into Loki’s bottom with rough motions before he was reduced to guttural grunts, spilling his own seed inside of Loki with a spasm of his own.  Loki was surprised he could feel the tremor inside of him at all with how his bottom had been abused. 

Having been still idly stroking his fingers over Loki’s spent shaft, Thor rested his chest down against Loki’s before finally pulling his hand away.  His hips remained flush with Loki’s for a moment, though he did at last let his legs rest against the floor.  They were both out of breath even as Thor pressed his mouth firmly to Loki’s, forcing his tongue between his lips to dip into his mouth, flicking over his teeth, rubbing against his own.  Every thought in Loki’s mind was calling out for it to stop, for him to end it, to push, fight, do _something_ , but his body would not obey his commands.

Instead, his tongue flicked against Thor’s, engaging in a teasing play with it as his head tilted to better fit their mouths together.  His nails refused to release Thor’s arms, and he felt strong hands slide maddeningly along his sides, his chest, a set of thick fingers threading through his hair, gripping it firmly.  At once, he was indignant at the dominating hold, but he also found himself arching into the touch.  There was an ache deep in his bones that he had never felt before; an ache that eased a little more each time those large hands stroked over him, with each small adjustment of hips, and every slipping motion of the tongue that filled his mouth.  He could not understand it.  It made no sense at all.

At last, the softened shaft was withdrawn from his bottom, slipping out with a dribble of wetness following it.  He immediately felt empty, but was distracted by pressure against his own member, surprised to realize that it was Thor’s, pressed snug up against it as he lay atop him.  The idea was not pleasant, but the feel of it certainly was.

He could feel Thor’s cock slide along the length of him, slick skin teasing slick skin as it did.  Worse was when its head ground against his own, causing them both to shudder at the sensation, and Thor’s hips to start rocking, making them slide along one another faster.  It was not as strong as the spot he’d hit against inside, but he found he still felt tendrils of electricity shooting through his shaft.  He couldn’t help his hips bucking up to meet Thor’s, his feet pressing against the floor to give leverage, his back arching up at the feeling.  Worrying about the consequences would have to come later.

Thor’s breath came in graceless huffs landing on Loki’s neck, which he soon felt teeth grazing against as well, surprising him.  It only added to the pleasure coursing through his body, however, as he was nipped and mouthed at, feeling certain that the skin had been broken at least a little by the play.  After a few more nips, he could feel a warm trickle running down the back of his shoulder blade, and he knew he was now bleeding.  It did not last for long, as he then felt a wet, warm tongue lapping at his skin, sweeping up the line of blood his bites had made.  He as much heard as felt the suction that was applied to the area as it seemed the oaf tried to coax more blood from the holes. 

The very thought excited his body, no matter how barbaric it was.  He felt his hips rock faster against Thor’s pelvis, and a hand disobediently rose to sift through the thick, golden locks hanging above him, cupping the other’s skull and pulling it down further towards his neck, effectively requesting more nips and bites, a request to which Thor’s mouth eagerly complied.

Before long, he was shot through with an intense wave of pleasure once again, his member throbbing and jerking against Thor’s as it let loose at his stomach.  With a particularly harsh bite down into the soft flesh of Loki’s neck, Thor followed suit.  This time, Loki could fee him start to slowly shrink.  His brother was sated for the moment, and with panted breath he raised his head to brush his lips over the outer curve of Loki’s ear, lips pulling back into a smile when that caused Loki to twitch.  Next, the head rose further, centering with his, and Thor caught up his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. 

Mind reeling, he returned it, feeling the last of the pleasure spread over his body as he left it rest against the floor.  He could not deny a sense of satisfaction was filling him, not only his body, but inside his mind, as well.  The experience was not completely new, he had felt a similar satisfaction from reaching orgasm before, but it was more complete, more totalizing than any he had felt before.  And it was the oaf that had given it to him; how ironic. 

Without a warning, he felt himself moving as Thor took a firm hold of his body to roll them both over so that he was on his back and Loki lay on his stomach atop him.  Though he immediately tried to push up from the undesired position, he could not make his arms or legs obey.  Instead, he lay there, feeling the rise and fall of Thor’s chest as the man closed his eyes, looking close to slumber.  It would be a prime time to slip away from him, but Loki could feel his own eyelids droop drowsily.  In addition, Thor’s bulky arms moved to lie across Loki’s back, holding him fast.

“Rest, brother,” came the raspy command, large hands curling around his sides to hold him more securely.  He noted that the hammer had not been called; Thor was either too tired to think clearly, or he foolishly trusted Loki not to slip off of him, out of his hold, and away the moment he fell asleep.  Of course, he was too tired to do that at the time, but surely Thor did not know that for certain.

Almost as soon as he had spoken, Thor’s eyes relaxed closed and his breathing evened into the restful rhythm of slumber.  Loki tried not to, but the room lost focus as he rested his head down on Thor’s chest, the sound of his breath guiding Loki’s to follow as he felt sleep creep over his body, from his feet up, until he had no choice but to relent to its hold, releasing his mind to the darkness.

*             *             *

He awoke, as he had hoped, before the oaf.  Thor was still sprawled out beneath and slightly beside him, his hold released by rest and body twisted in sleep.  The arms were still around him, but one of Thor’s elbows now sat on the floor.  It took very little effort once his eyes refocused to pull himself away from the hold.

He groaned as he bent at the waist, feeling much more sore now than he had before sleeping.  It made sense, of course, but it was bothersome.  Standing carefully, he gingerly gathered his clothing and settled enough of it about his person that he felt sufficiently dressed.  The oaf so far remained asleep, a line of drool easing out of his half-open mouth.  Loki nudged him with the edge of his boot, gathered from across the room, and he did not wake, only turned slightly more onto his side, arms shifting in a gathering motion, finding the over-vested tunic Loki had decided to forgo wearing for the moment, and drawing it to his chest.  He held the tunic securely, cradling it, practically spooning it. 

Loki snorted quietly at the display, at the way one set of meaty fingers stroked idly over the fabric of his tunic, the way Thor’s breathing, already settled, became calmer.

It drew a scowl to his lips.  “Sentiment,” he denounced.

Looking over to the doorway, he grit his teeth and felt his lip curl up in frustration; he would still not be able to leave without Thor’s command to release the magic holding him prisoner.  _Damn._

Rolling his eyes back downward to regard his sleeping ‘brother,’ he considered attempting to use his body to open the door, and simply follow it through.  There was a considerable amount of weight involved, however, and he did not think he would be able to lift, let alone drag, the large-muscled body across the room to the door.  Even if he could, that would solve only the simplest of charms, and he doubted whoever designed the cage—certainly not Thor—would have used such rudimentary magic to secure it.  No, he sighed as he let himself accept that he would require Thor to be conscious and possibly even willing when he removed the barrier.  Conscious would come on its own with time; willingness would be more difficult.

Interrupting his thoughts, Loki felt and heard a rumbling sound emanating from his belly.  His brow furrowed slightly, despite knowing exactly what the sound meant.  Rarely did he find himself in need of food badly enough to cause his stomach to call for it, and he had just been forced to eat by Thor mere hours earlier.  Stepping back closer to Thor’s prone form once more, he bent carefully down—not carefully enough, according to each muscle that screamed out its indignant complaint—to look through the tray for anything he would not mind consuming.  He settled on a sandwich similar to the one Thor had forced on him before, though this time he finished it in its entirety, and yet another when he found he still felt the need.

As he wiped his hands over his pantlegs, he noticed Thor starting to still from his sleep.  Instead of waking, however, Loki watched as one of the hands that had been clutching firmly at the tunic he was holding left it, moving down to fumble at his groin, at last grasping the half-hard member Loki hadn’t seen grow as he was eating.  Thor let out a sleep-softened moan, his fingers looped around his cock and stroking it, no doubt dreaming of some sort of fantasy.  Loki pushed away the lurking thought that it could, in fact, be himself that was being dreamt of.  In any case, he was going to have to get used to seeing Thor this way, if he was to convince him that he should be let out.  He sincerely doubted that what had just happened between them was going to be a one-time event in Thor’s mind. 

Once out, he could reevaluate the situation, regroup, and plan.  For now, though, he would have to act like he wanted what Thor offered.  He would need to receive that cock again, knowing the reaction his body would likely give in return.  And after, he would be required to not fight, to not argue, perhaps even allow himself to be coddled and spooned by the bulky arms.  A shudder rippled through Loki’s body at the thought; he thought it was revulsion and not desire, but it was difficult to be entirely certain when there was a growing pressure against the material of his pants, even as he stood with them relaxed.  He could not deal with discerning between the two at the moment, if he was to successful gain release.

To be honest, he was not sure he even wanted to know.


End file.
